Distraction
by dferveiro
Summary: Now Complete! What if Warrick hadn't checked on Nick after he got pushed out that window in Stalker? An alternate version of events, developed into a full blown story. Whole team participates, but focus is on Nick.
1. First Mistake

**Distraction**

a/n: This takes place during "Stalker," and has been altered (as you'll see). Just my take on what could have happened if Warrick had gone after the suspect instead of checking on Nick.

First Mistake

Nick walked quietly through the front hallway of Nigel Crane's home. It was eerily empty. He glanced around, and then he saw it.

Red drops. _Blood?_ They almost seemed too thick for that. Almost subconsciously, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. They snapped on, and Nick followed the drops.

He crouched in front of some cabinetry, and paused. _This is it. This could be the major find_. He held his breath as he opened up the cabinet. A basket of random items lay before him. Nick started to rifle through it.

_What the—_A glove. Covered in bright red liquid. Nick's forehead furrowed in confusion.

And then he heard it. A scuffle behind him. He quickly turned his head, just as someone swung something at his head.

--------

"Yeah," Warrick said into his phone. "We'll be—"

He jumped as the window adjacent to him shattered. His eyes widened as he saw his good friend fall to the ground, with shards of glass and splinters of wood raining over him.

Warrick whipped out his walkie, and quickly called for backup. With a quick glance at Nick, he held his gun ready, and turned to face the apartment. Slowly he stalked through it.

He took each room, searching as quickly as he could without missing anything. He came to the kitchen, where a wooden cutting board lay on the floor. Warrick frowned.

There was blood on the edge of the board.

And suddenly he felt like he was missing something. That's when he heard it. An engine was idling out front.

Warrick darted out the front door. He stopped on the top step and looked for Nick. But Nick wasn't in the bushes anymore. A man in a blue uniform slid Nick in the back of the brown cable van.

"Hey!" Warrick yelled. The man looked up and quickly got into the van. Warrick started down the stairs, but he heard the tires squeal away, and knew he was too late.

"Stop!"

Why he bothered with that command, he didn't know. The van sped out of sight. And Warrick froze for several seconds. _He just took Nick._

He forced himself to act. Warrick grabbed his walkie again.

"Dispatch, Nick Stokes has just been kidnapped by one Nigel Crane."

-------

Nick barely registered that the rocking motion stopped. He could hear noise, like a truck or something. He was being moved, but as much as he wanted to open his eyes, his head just hurt too much.

He gave up and fell back asleep as the vehicle he was moved to sped away from the brown Luna cable van.

-------

"What happened!" Grissom shouted across the yard of the crime scene. Warrick's eyes seemed very focused on the ground.

"I don't know, man," he said. "Nick got pushed out the window, and I went inside to catch the guy."

"Crane?" Grissom asked. Warrick nodded.

"I think so. When I came out, he was loading Nick up in a van." Warrick looked up at the sky, his hands braced on his narrow hips. "I shouldn't have left him."

Grissom glanced away to see Sara and Catherine pull up to the scene. He looked back at Warrick.

"No, you shouldn't have." With that, he turned to the rest of the team, specifically to Brass, who walked behind. "Have we heard anything on the van?"

Jim shook his head. "Not yet, but there's an APB out for it." He paused, and shot Grissom a reassuring look. "We'll find him, Gil."

Grissom didn't nod or say anything. He just turned to the apartment and went in, waving his hand over his shoulder for the others to follow.

"What are we looking for?" Sara asked as she pulled at her gloves. She glanced around the apartment of Nigel Crane, and like the others, was struck by how empty it was.

"Evidence," Grissom said. Catherine almost rolled her eyes at the obvious statement. "And I have a feeling it will relate to Nick."


	2. Evidence

**Evidence**

Sara glanced at Warrick, then at Catherine. Both looked a little dumbfounded at Grissom's statement.

"Why would the evidence relate to Nick?" she boldly voiced. Grissom shot her a look.

"His email. Jane Galloway being posed like his prom date," he said. "And the fact that Crane didn't kill Nick."

The mention of Nick and 'kill' in the same sentence made everyone stop. They glanced at each other, heads low and worry evident. No one wanted to voice their worst fear.

"Let's get going," Warrick said, charging ahead to look for anything and everything.

They spread out, each finding a corner or room to work with. Catherine found herself in the kitchen. She swiped a hand at her blond hair, tucking shorter strands behind her ear. Her eyes were focused on the floor.

She opened up the cabinet Nick had found. The red drops inside caught her attention immediately.

"Not blood," she said out loud. _But about the same shade of the hair dye used on Jane_, she thought.

Suddenly something dropped heavily behind her. Catherine shot to her feet and screamed.

Grissom seemed unfazed by her reaction as he launched into an explanation.

"He lives up there. Not down here," Grissom said. He held up a small tape. "And he has quite the video collection."

-------

The house was a split-level track home, not uncommon but certainly not normal. There weren't many homes this close to Lake Mead. But in this dusty and tree-covered corner of the lake, a dark truck pulled up to the lone house.

Inside, Nick tried to open his eyes.

_Ow_. Pain was all that seemed to register at the moment. Slowly he tried again. He blinked several times, and was grateful it was dark. Nick moved his right arm, but groaned and stopped. His wrist was aching. His head hurt too. With his other arm, he felt his forehead.

It was sticky. Nick could smell the copper. _Blood_.

_What happened?_ He tried to sit up. A wave of pain hit him in the chest. He winced and groaned at that.

"Sorry about that, Nick," someone said from across the room. Nick's eyes shot open wide. He looked around, noticing now the old furniture, the smell of dust, and . . . and the dark figure casually watching him.

Nick swallowed hard.

"Who are you?" He hoped his voice was as stern as he wanted it to be. Slowly, he pulled himself up into a sitting position. He heard the man across from him laugh—but it wasn't funny. It was . . . like he was insulted.

"Who am I?" the man mocked. "You must have hit your head harder than I thought." A lamp came on, and Nick finally saw the man.

But he didn't recognize him.

"I guess so," Nick said slowly. The man stood up and bent over the coffee table, where an array of bandages waited.

"I guess that's my fault," the man said. "You surprised me at my house, so I had to act quickly. I didn't mean for you to get hurt."

_House.__ Crane._

_ Nigel Crane._

Nick swallowed again. _How does he know me?_

"So what hurts?" Crane picked up a roll of bandages and moved towards Nick. Nick almost imperceptibly leaned back on the couch, away from Crane.

"I'm okay," he said. His eyes darted around the room, glancing for an escape.

"Now Nick," Crane started with a laugh, "there you go again. You always claim you're fine, but you're not. Let's start with your wrist."

Before Nick could object or move away, Nigel Crane sat next to him and started bandaging his wrist.

Nick swallowed again, not caring that his dry throat felt like a cheese grater. He just watched as Crane wrapped it tightly.

"How're your ribs?" Crane asked next. Nick just stared at him. _Hell no. Get out of here now_. He would have acted on that, but his body was fighting just to stay conscious. His head was pounding, and each time his heart beat, the pulse aggravated his ribs.

"Lift your shirt up," Crane said. His tone was completely casual, no embarrassment or emotion at all. He might as well have asked for a glass of water. He reached towards Nick, his fingers grabbing an end of the shirt.

"Uh, no, no thanks," Nick said quickly. "I'm fine." He wasn't, and Crane knew it.

"Nick," he said, a reprimanding tone in his voice. "It's not like I haven't seen you without a shirt on before."

Nick froze again.

"What?"

Crane seemed to almost laugh. "Pull up your shirt, Nick." He reached forward again and pulled it up himself. Nick just let him as he tried to process everything.

_How has he seen me . . ._ He didn't really want to think about it, but knew he had to if he wanted to get back home. Nick cleared his throat and tried not to squirm as Nigel Crane's fingers touched his bare chest as he wrapped the next bandage tightly around his ribs.

"You've been in my house?" It came out as a whisper. Nigel laughed.

"Are you kidding? We hang out there all the time. Ever since you got that sports package, remember?"

_Sports package._

_ Cable._

_ Luna Cable._

_ Jane Galloway. He was in the attic there._

He swallowed hard again, quickly as his stomach lurched. _He was in my_ _attic._ Suddenly Nick let out a small yelp. Crane pulled a little too tight on the bandage.

"Sorry," he said to Nick. "But it has to be tight, or it won't do any good." He finished securing it and then moved back to the coffee table for some gauze. "You've got a nasty cut on your forehead." He moved to clean it, but Nick suddenly jerked back.

"Uh, actually," he coughed, "um, let me wash that first," Nick said. "Do you have a bathroom I can use?"

Nigel nodded and pointed to a small room fifteen feet away. Nick got up slowly, pushing himself off the couch with his good arm. He suppressed any groan and quickly made it to the bathroom.

He shut the door behind him before he gasped. His chest heaved as panic swept over him.

_What do I do? How do I get out of here?_ He looked around the bathroom, but there were no windows—just a simple tub, sink and toilet.

_I have to go back out there_. He gulped back the growing lump in his throat. His stomach churned, and suddenly he couldn't gulp any more.

Nick practically fell by the toilet and grabbed his ribs as anything he ate in the last few hours revisited him.

His body started to shake, and Nick found himself gasping for breath. He stayed there, on the floor, for several minutes.

_Get a hold of yourself!_ Nick braced himself against the floor and pulled himself to his feet. He flushed the toilet and took a look at himself in the mirror. The gash on his head was ugly, but Nick made himself wash it up anyway. It stung, but as the blood was washed away, Nick saw it wasn't too deep.

_Okay. You can do this, Stokes._ He nodded to his reflection. _Find a way out._

He took a deep breath, and reached for the door.

--------

Sara watched the tape. She and the others divided up the collection of tapes.

Divide and conquer.

She leaned forward, suddenly engrossed in what she saw. Nigel Crane spoke to the camera, praising Nick and what a good friend he was. The man was disturbingly close to the camera, and Sara almost leaned back.

_"Ask him. Ask Nick. Nick, would you let me stop your heart?"_

She hit the stop button and ran to find the others.

"Grissom," she said, invading his office. "I have something."

"Me too," came Warrick's voice behind her. Grissom motioned them in, and Sara started.

"Crane is obsessed with Nick," she said. "He acts like he and Nick are best friends."

"On my tapes, Crane talked about Jane Galloway, and what she would mean to Nick," Warrick added. "She was definitely posed for Nick."

Gil looked pensive for a moment, pressing his hands together and tapping his fingertips against each other.

"So, Nick has been Crane's objective all along," Grissom said. "But what does Crane want Nick for?"

"Friendship," Sara answered. Warrick shot her a look. "Extreme, yes, but he wants to be recognized."

"I think it goes deeper than that," Warrick said, facing Grissom. "I think he wants to be Nick."

Grissom took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The trouble is," he began, "either way, Nick is being held against his will."


	3. Bad to Worse

a/n: I don't normally write this fast. I normally sit on a chapter for a couple of days and make sure I like it. In this case, I just want to write quickly. So I apologize if it's not as polished, but hopefully I've avoided obvious errors. Thanks for the reviews, and please keep them coming!

**Bad to Worse**

Nigel Crane wasn't much to look at. He was shorter than average, had a receding hairline, and wore thick-rimmed glasses. Nick normally wouldn't have suspected anything. But now as he saw him, Nick knew Nigel Crane was dangerous.

He just hoped Crane was also stupid.

As soon as Nick emerged from the bathroom, Crane set upon him with gauze and ointment. Nick tried to calm his stomach as Crane worked on the gash on his head.

"There," Crane said. "All better." Nick watched him, and behind those thick glasses was . . . doubt? Guilt?

_Is he so eager to get me better because he feels bad he hurt me in the first place?_ Nick logged that away, just in case.

Everything about Crane was fidgety. The man kept wringing his hands, glancing at Nick and at the items in the room. _So he's nervous._

_ About what?_

Profiling was never Nick's strong point. No, he followed evidence. _Do the same here. He's kidnapped you, fixed you up, and is now staring at you. What does that evidence point to?_

Part of Nick didn't want to think about it. He had to admit that he was scared where that would lead him.

_He . . . cares about me_. Nick tried not to shudder. _He said we hang out all the time._

_ He wants a friend._

"Uh," Nick started with a stutter, "thanks. For, you know . . ." He motioned to his forehead and wrist. Nigel let out a loud sigh and started nodding profusely.

"You're welcome," Crane said. He smiled now, and Nick knew he said the right thing. _He's relieved. He thought I'd be mad._

_ Just how much control do I have then?_

"Are you hungry?" Crane asked suddenly. Nick glanced out a window, but it was covered. He glanced at his watch. It was late, close to ten. Undoubtedly it was pitch-black outside.

"Sure," Nick said. Nigel smiled again and went to the kitchen. Nick watched as he dug through the fridge and cabinets, pulling out food and pans.

_Quickly._

Nick moved as fast and as quietly as he could, ambling to the front door. He could still hear the clatter of dishes in the kitchen. But when he reached the front door, he froze.

There were three different locks on the door. All were dead-bolts, but none of them had a simple knob to twist open. Instead, three keyholes stared back at Nick.

"You need the keys to leave, Nick."

He almost jumped, but Nick forced himself to hide anything but casual behavior. Nigel stared at him from the top of the stairs, and in his gaze Nick saw the suspicion.

"My stomach's a little queasy," Nick said. "I thought some fresh air would help before dinner." He added a smile for effect. Nigel started down the stairs. His steps were slow, and something in the way the man moved made Nick feel threatened—challenged, even.

There were only five stairs up to the top split of the home, and five to a basement, but each step sounded like doom to Nick. He swallowed, and immediately wished he hadn't shown that visual tell.

Nigel stopped by Nick, glancing at the locks and back at Nick. He started to grin, but it wasn't just weird this time. It was menacing, as his lips curled in an awkward gnarl.

"You know, Nick," Crane said, "I think you were trying to leave."

Nick had no idea what to say. He opened his mouth to deny it, but nothing came out.

"I think you're not well enough yet anyway, to leave or decide anything," Crane continued.

"Actually," Nick finally managed to croak out, "I have something I forgot at my apartment. My j-jacket. I actually wanted to give it to you, Nigel." _What? How did you come up with that?_

Crane's gnarled smile spread, and soon he was laughing. It only lasted seconds, and then he stopped and glared at Nick.

"Are you humoring me?"

Nick quickly shook his head, but Nigel suddenly waved a gun for Nick to see. Nick felt his heart skip, especially when he noticed it was his gun. Crane aimed the gun at Nick's head.

"I think you're lying to me," Crane said. He nodded to the basement. "Down the stairs, now."

Nick swallowed and started down the stairs backwards as Crane advanced. The gun never left Nick's face, and yet he found himself staring at Crane. _How serious is he?_

"Down the hall," Crane ordered. His face looked flustered now, and that frightened Nick too. _Dangerous and unstable_. Bad combination.

"Nigel, I'm not trying to insult you," Nick said slowly. "But I think you should put the gun down."

Nigel's face suddenly hardened. Any nervousness disappeared, and as he spoke, his voice became eerily cold.

"Nick, back up into that room, and put these cuffs on." He pulled out a pair of handcuffs and tossed them to Nick. Nick didn't move for a moment, unsure of what to do. Nigel cocked the gun and refocused his aim.

Nick quickly put the cuffs on, though as loose as he could make it. Crane narrowed his eyes, and suddenly reached forward. He squeezed the loops tighter around Nick's wrists, even his bandaged one. The metal pinched his skin, and Nick winced.

Unexpectedly, Crane lunged forward and pushed Nick back. The force of it made Nick almost double over in pain. Before he could object, Nigel shut the room's door, and Nick was left alone.

--------

Jim Brass looked at the vehicle, frowning at it. He pulled on a latex glove, and drew his gun.

He carefully opened the side door.

_Nothing_.

But Luna Cable said it was one of their vans, the one signed out to Nigel Crane. Brass sighed, and whipped out his cell phone.

"Gil," he said as the man answered. "I've got your van. But no Crane, and no Nick."

--------

The van was abandoned by a gas station. Catherine and Sara were combing the van over, for anything. They'd already found drops of blood.

Warrick was taking pictures of the road and the area. But Grissom knew they had nothing. He ran a hand over his hair and went into the convenience store. Brass was already talking with the attendant.

"No, I haven't seen him," the female attendant said, shaking her head at an ID photo of Crane from Luna Cable. Brass produced a photo of Nick. "Nope, not him either."

Grissom wasn't surprised at that. He sighed and looked around the store. Every convenience store had surveillance, but the cameras weren't geared towards the parking lot. Only the front camera might catch something, but Gil knew it was a long shot.

"Did you notice any vehicles parked outside for awhile, maybe left there for days?" Brass asked. The girl started to shake her head, but then stopped.

"Well, yeah, actually. There was this blue truck that was there for a couple of days," she said. "We were going to tow it today, but, well, you know . . ."

"Was the truck dark or light blue?" Grissom asked. His sudden interest took the girl off guard, but she answered him.

"Dark."

"Did you see the make of it?" Gil asked, pressing his luck. The girl shrugged.

"Maybe a Chevy. No, it was a Ford," she said, gasping as if she suddenly remembered. "An F250. Is that right? Do those exist?"

Gil smiled, and glanced at Brass.

"Yes, they do," Brass said. "Did you happen to see the license plate?" Grissom turned away as the girl shook her head. He glanced back over his shoulder and caught Brass's eye. Gil nodded up at the cameras.

When he emerged from the store, his team was finishing up the search of the area. They all looked up at him, waiting for the next order.

"Warrick, take everything back and start processing. Tell Greg this is priority one, and have Archie analyze the surveillance tapes," Grissom said, firing off the orders of business. "Tell him to look for a dark F250, and get a plate. Catherine, Sara, I want you to dig in and find Nigel Crane—his past, family, friends, anything."

The three CSIs acknowledged him as he turned on one heel and got in his SUV. He drove off, away from the crime scene, and also away from Vegas.

"If I were Nigel Crane, where would I go? Where would I take Nick?"

The silence didn't answer, but Grissom didn't expect it to. He drove on in the darkness, keeping his eyes out for anything that would be a possibility.

_Isolation._ "Crane kept Jane Galloway isolated. He'll keep himself and Nick isolated." _If Nick's still alive_.

Grissom floored the gas pedal.


	4. The Captive

a/n: Thanks for the reviews! Here's the next chapter; these chapters aren't as long as I normally write them, but hey, at least it's quick.

**The Captive**

His chest ached, but Nick tried to ignore it. He wasn't immune to pain, but he tried to think that he could simply pull a mind-over-matter thing with this. Besides, he'd played sports and gotten injured.

_Yeah, but you were never kidnapped and handcuffed after those injuries_.

He gave himself a little slack.

His face itched, and Nick awkwardly used both his hands to scratch whatever was bothering him. He looked around the small room for the millionth time. It was simple a spare room—maybe meant more for a study or storage than anything else. The carpet wasn't glued down. It was just a fragment, lain down over the house's foundation. The walls weren't painted. They were just chalky white from the spackle and sheetrock. There was a closet, with one lone bar from which items could be hung. But other than that and a sole light bulb that barely shed any light, the room was bare. And the door was securely locked.

Nick paced it, his eyes glaring at the cheap flooring. It took all of two seconds to get around the room. He estimated it was a 7 ft by 8 ft room, maybe more, but not much. There were two air vents, both 4in by 10 inches. There were no other access points, not even a window.

_That has to be against building codes_, Nick thought. But that was probably the least of Nigel's worries.

Crane was unpredictable. One minute, he worried about Nick's health. The next, he locked him up and hit him where he already was injured. Nick shook his head, grimacing as well at the pain the motion caused.

_He's too volatile. I can't reason with him logically, and he saw through my kiss-up attempt. _

Nick stopped pacing. He allowed himself to sit for awhile.

_I just have to escape._

He knew there were dangers. If he failed, who knows how Crane would react? If he succeeded, would he be able to find help and get back home? _I don't even know where I am._

_Wait. I have to still be close to Vegas_. It was evening when he and Warrick went to Crane's house. And it was 9-ish at night when he woke up. Nick glanced at his watch. It was after midnight now. _We couldn't have gotten far._

_But there are miles of desert out there too. _Nick closed his eyes and lay back on the cheap carpet. _Rest.__ You won't get far if you don't._

--------

"The blood's Nick's," Greg said solemnly. There was no guessing game or kidding around. He gave her the results straight. Catherine bit her lip as she looked over the printout Greg handed to her.

"The tire tracks match the standard tires for Ford F250s," Greg continued. "And the prints belong to Crane, and one other person." He handed Catherine another sheet.

Catherine took it eagerly. "Who?"

"Chad Johnson," Greg said. "He works at Luna Cable."

Catherine sighed. "Well, it's at least something." She left the lab and rejoined Sara in the break room. Sara was pouring over any bills or paperwork involving Nigel Crane. Luna Cable had quickly provided anything they needed—already the press had caught wind of a missing CSI and a suspected killer in the form of a cable man. Luna was trying to head off a bad PR campaign.

The phone rang, transferred from the front reception. Catherine shot Sara a look.

"It's your turn," she said. Sara relented and picked up the phone.

"Sidle." She sighed. "No more calls from the press. No, don't tell them anything." She listened for a second. "If someone has a tip, they can call Brass's office. They have a tip line there. Yeah." Sara hung up.

"Press again?" Catherine asked. Sara nodded.

"They must have heard about Nick over their scanners," she said. "I wish that was illegal." She turned back to her stack of papers.

"Has his family heard?" Catherine asked. Sara shook her head.

"I haven't called," Sara said. "I was hoping Grissom would do it." As if on cue, Grissom walked by the break room, bypassing it and heading straight to his office. Both women watched him as he shut the door a little more forcefully than necessary.

"I don't think he should call them," Catherine said. "He's never been a people-person." She took a deep breath, and stood up. "I'll call them. While I do that, can you call this guy?" She passed Sara the employment dossier of Chad Johnson.

"Co-worker?" Sara asked. Catherine nodded. "I'll have him come in." Both of them suddenly looked at the clock. It was 3 a.m. now. But when it really mattered, especially with a live person—their friend, nonetheless—proper hours and etiquette were damned.

------

The light was flickering now. That one light bulb was cheaper than the carpet. Nick scowled at it. He really didn't want to deal with the light going out.

But it kept flickering. It'd been doing that for hours now, and it's what woke him up. Nick clutched his ribs as he moved and pushed himself off the floor with his good hand. The flickering was messing with his head now. It pounded with a constant headache. Nick grimaced as he raised his arms to the light bulb. He flinched at the heated glass, but quickly unscrewed the bulb.

He bounced it in his hands, letting the bulb cool. The room was darker than night, even though Nick's watch had showed it was morning now.

_Crane may come soon_. Nick grimaced at the thought. _But you can't escape if the door's not unlocked._

_How am I going to get by him?_ He kept juggling the light bulb.

And then the bulb in his head came on.

Crane shuffled outside Nick's door an hour later. Nick watched the door open from the wall by it.

"Nick?" Crane called out. Nick didn't see much of anything, but he used the voice to guide him.

He lunged at the source, ramming into Nigel's body. Nick quickly used his bound hands together and smashed the light bulb in Crane's face. He wasn't sure where it connected, but Crane screamed.

For a brief moment, Nick wondered if Crane had his gun on him, but he pushed that aside.

_Leave, quickly!_ His body obeyed, albeit painfully. Nick took the stairs, past the front door that was more than adequately locked. He ran to the kitchen, and turned circles, but couldn't find another door.

_Screw it—just jump out a window!_ He yanked down a curtain, and froze.

The window was covered in aluminum foil. _Like Jane Galloway's apartment._

_Move, Nick! It's not indestructible!_ Nick clawed at the foil and the window's locks. His fingers fumbled, but unlocked the window. However, he couldn't raise it open. He spotted the nearest chair, and with adrenaline masking his pain, swung the chair into the window.

It shattered, spraying glass outside and around the sill. Nick dropped the chair and started crawling through.

"Nick!!"

_Run. Run. Run. Run._

The command kept repeating in his head, but Nick hadn't found his feet yet. He finally scrambled through the window and to his feet, but little shards of glass cut into his palms.

He was on a deck of sorts. The morning light was bright, especially since it reflected off water and nearly blinded him.

_Lake__?_

He shook his head and quickly ran down the deck stairs. He didn't know which way to go. Everything looked the same—tall trees, dusty rocks and cliffs, and then water.

_That has to be __Lake Mead__._ He started running towards it. _There might be people out._

Nick darted through trees, not paying any heed to the twigs and branches that cut at him as he rushed by. He could hear the water ahead of him. It wasn't close, but it wasn't too far away.

_If I can just make it there, or to a road . . ._

He'd take whatever came first.

Nick's boot caught on a rock, and he pitched forward. He stopped his fall by catching himself on a tree with his bloodied hands. His chest heaved from the rush, the pain, and the fear. He ventured a glance back the way he'd come.

It was still.

Nick swallowed, a dry gulp that revealed more than his need for a drink. He turned back to the lake, and resumed his uneven pace.

The morning sun started to heat him, but Nick couldn't very well take off his jacket. _That's not important now._ He ran a bit further, then stopped to relieve himself.

He knew he was pretty far away from the house, but that didn't console him. Something told him to get further and further away. Nick almost wished he knew where Nigel Crane was. He was running blindly, not knowing which way was safe.

Another rock tripped Nick up, and this time he hit the ground. Nick groaned out loud, and pushed himself back up. His right wrist screamed in protest, but he ignored it when he saw the ground.

It was pavement.

Nick looked up around him. He was in a parking lot by the lake. No one was around yet, but he'd made it.

He sighed in relief.

And then tires squealed behind him, and Nick whirled around just in time to see a dark blue F250. It stopped just feet away from him. Nick was about to wave his bloody and bound hands for help when he saw the driver.

_Oh crap._ Nick started to back away, but Nigel just floored the truck at him. Then the truck screeched to a halt, this time inches away.

"Don't move, Nick!" he heard from inside the truck. Nick felt his stomach drop, and he swallowed again.

_There's still a chance._

Crane got out of the truck, the gun leveled at Nick's head. Nick noticed little paths of blood running down Crane's face. _The light bulb._ Nick couldn't help but smirk at that.

"Turn around, and face the lake," Crane said.

Nick slowly complied, and as he did, his spirits fell fast into a dark void as despair flooded him. Suddenly, out on the water, he saw a boat. It wasn't large, but trailing from it was a joyful morning skier.

"Help!!!" he yelled as loud as he could. His lungs burned with his ribs, but Nick didn't care.

Especially after Nigel hit him in the back of the head, and everything faded away with his consciousness.


	5. Dead Avenues

**Dead Avenues**

"His parents are on their way here," Catherine said, leaning against a doorway in Grissom's office.

He didn't look up from his desk, but nodded.

"I imagine the good judge and his wife are worried about him," Gil said. He sighed. "When they get here, make sure they aren't told more than they need to know, Cath." He shot her a look.

"I won't," she said. She yawned.

"Why don't you bring me up to speed before you get some sleep?" Grissom said. It was Catherine's turn to shoot him a look.

"I'm fine," she said. "What are you working on?"

"The tapes," Grissom said. "I'm going through all of them." He gestured to the remote and TV behind him. "The more I know about Nigel Crane, the better. Now what have you found?"

Catherine raised an eyebrow as her eyes scanned over the tall stacks of tapes—all surveillance and commentary at Jane Galloway's attic and Nick's as well.

"Uh, the coworker, Chad Johnson. Sara and I interviewed him. He's clean, but was weirded out by Crane," Catherine said. "It seems everyone was. As a result, no one was close to him."

"Hmm." Grissom took off his glasses and started cleaning specks off them. "Too bad no one questioned him till now."

-------

A light shone in his face. Nick winced at the brightness just beyond his eyelids. He tried to move his hands to block the light.

They didn't move. Instead, he heard rattling.

"Wake up, Nick," Crane said. Nick groaned, and slowly opened an eye. Crane was flashing a light in his face, as if examining his pupil's response. Nick tried to move away, but again he heard the rattling.

It convinced him to open both his eyes. The first thing he saw was a long chain. He was back in that room, on top of that cheap carpet, and half-way in the closet. The chain was locked around the metal hanger bar, and it lead to his handcuffs.

"No more running away, Nick," Crane said. "I don't want you to get hurt." Nick shut his eyes and groaned.

"Then let me go," he said softly. His body felt worn out, and his head felt like an elephant was stepping on it.

Crane laughed. "No, Nick," he said. "You're not well." Nick cracked his eyes open again. The man had small cuts on his face, courtesy of the light bulb. But the insanity in the man made Nick shudder. He acted like nothing was wrong with what happened. He didn't seem angry at Nick, but just insistent that he stay.

Nick shut his eyes again. It hurt too much to think. He lay his head back on the carpet, and let himself fall into unconsciousness yet again.

-------

"Archie, what do you have?" Grissom asked. He stretched his arms out. He'd been sitting around watching tapes for too long.

The Asian technician queued up the surveillance footage from the convenience store.

"The only thing I found was just a half-hour after the kidnapping," Archie said. "A dark F250 drives just in view of the front camera, but I only have a partial license plate." He fiddled around on his keyboard, and pulled up an enhanced image of the truck. Only the right half of the truck was seen, and only the last three digits of the plate were caught.

"8-2-0," Grissom read aloud. "Well, it narrows the search a bit." He patted Archie on the shoulder. "Thanks, Archie."

Grissom quickly left the video room, and practically ran into Brass.

"Gil," Brass greeted.

"Jim, I have a partial license plate. Last three digits are 8-2-0," Grissom said. Jim nodded.

"I'll run it." Brass turned on a heel and took off down the hall. Grissom turned to go his way, and this time almost ran into Sara.

"Gris, Catherine and I found something in Crane's bank statements," she said. She started walking off to their office, leaving Grissom to follow.

Catherine was seated, still pouring over the statements. As soon as the other two entered the room, she presented what she had.

"Okay. Nigel Crane has been saving up money ever since he's lived here and worked for Luna Cable, which is three years ago," Catherine said.

"He had $19,000 saved up as of last month," Sara said, taking over. "But last week he converted it to a cashier's check, made out to Lorna Gibson."

Gil stared at Sara, then Catherine. "Who's Lorna Gibson?"

The two women looked to each other for a second. "We don't know," Catherine said. "She lives here, an older woman, age 59. But we can't find her."

"We're about to go to her residence," Sara filled in. Grissom just nodded.

"Let me know what you find."

Suddenly the three CSIs heard shouts. They whirled around to the source: Mr. and Mrs. Stokes.

"Where's Nick?" That was his mother. She was dressed richly, in a business suit and with her brown hair swept up, but even so she looked like an emotional wreck. She and her husband were headed their way, when Jim Brass cut them off.

"Mrs. Stokes, Mr. Stokes, let's go talk over here," he said. Grissom breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted to do was have to console Nick's parents while he was actively trying to find him.

_Alive._

He turned back to Sara and Catherine. "Find this Gibson woman, quickly."


	6. Parental Influence

a/n: Thanks for the reviews! Keep them coming! I've got three more chapters written and will post them when I can.

**Parental Influence**

The door opened, and light spilled into the room. Nick winced at it, but welcomed the light. He'd been in the dark room for awhile, and it was starting to get to him.

"Hey Nick," Nigel said. He crouched next to him. "I thought you might be hungry." Crane started to undo the chain from the handcuffs, and helped Nick to his feet. Nick hadn't bothered to move much. It hurt anytime he did.

And Crane knew that.

"I thought you would want to get out of here for a bit, but you have to take it easy," Nigel said. "I don't want you to get hurt." As if to emphasize his point, he brought out Nick's gun and waved it in the air.

Nick nodded. He didn't feel like resisting right now.

Nigel led him out of the room and up to the living room. He had the TV on to some game—normally Nick would have taken immediate interest, but it just wasn't a priority right now. Nick sat down on the couch.

He felt groggy, and stiff. His head still pounded, and he used his bound hands to gingerly test the back of his head. He felt a bump there, and matted blood.

_Great, another head injury._

The smell of food wafted to him, and Nick realized how hungry he was. He glanced at his watch, only to find it gone. Nick frowned, then looked at Crane. He was stirring something on the stove, and on his left wrist was Nick's watch.

He glanced at the window for an idea of the time, but the window he'd broken was boarded up now. However, he did see streaks of sun.

Nick turned his head to the TV. In the corner of the score box was the local time. _Five o'clock_ Nick sighed.

The room was spinning a bit, and he decided to lie down. He braced himself to do so slowly, but felt his hands sting. He held them up to his face. They were cut, but the bleeding must have stopped hours ago. Nick didn't see any glass in the cuts, but he didn't look too hard either.

The food's aroma again tempted Nick, and he thought back to the last time he'd eaten or drunk anything. _Yesterday_. _Was that just yesterday?_ To him, it seemed like too much had gone on to be just one day.

Nigel suddenly emerged from the kitchen, gun loosely held in one hand, and a plate in the other. He set it on the coffee table. Nick glanced at the food. It was spaghetti.

_Joy._

But he ate it, slowly because of his bound hands. He felt Nigel's eyes on him the whole time. Nick tried to push that aside and just get the nourishment he needed.

He pushed the plate away, and leaned back in the couch.

"Uh, thanks," he said. He avoided Crane's eyes. The way they stared at him really aggravated Nick. He glanced at the TV, then back at Crane.

"Can I take a shower, get cleaned up?" Nick asked. He wasn't dying for a shower yet, but he did have to use the bathroom. _Besides, it'll get me away from him for a bit._

Nigel nodded. Nick stood up, but stopped.

"Um, Nigel," he said. "I can't shower with my hands like this." He swallowed as suspicion clouded over Nigel's face. Part of Nick was afraid, but he ordered himself to just be cool.

Ever so slowly, Nigel dug into his pocket and brought out a small key. He tossed it to Nick, and raised his gun. Nick was very cautious in his movements. He used the key and unlocked the cuffs.

"Drop the cuffs and the key on the floor," Nigel ordered. Nick was amazed by how controlling he could be one moment, and then docile like a cat the next. Nick dropped the items, and slowly stepped back in the bathroom.

His chest heaved a huge breath of relief. Nick glanced at the mirror. He leaned towards his reflection.

_What are you going to do?_ So far, after his escape, he'd done nothing but sleep and obey. _You have to find a way out_. Maybe not forcefully again, but he had to get through to Nigel.

He sighed, and started to undress. He discarded his clothing on the floor and unwrapped the bandages on his wrist and chest. Nick quickly stepped into the shower, and relished the warm spray of water.

He was washing the blood out of his hair when he froze at a sudden realization. _Jane Galloway had peep holes into her bathroom._

_Is Crane watching me now?_

Nick washed off in record time, and got out of the shower. He relaxed a bit after he dried off and had his jeans on. He stopped, and just leaned his body forward against the bathroom sink. His body was . . . well, it'd seen better days. His chest showed bruises, and his wrist was swollen. The cut on his head wasn't too bad, but it certainly made the overall picture pathetic. Nick looked down at his hands, and realized the little jagged slits in his palms stung in the air.

He sighed again, rewrapped his wrist and chest as well as he could, and finished getting dressed.

Nigel was waiting for him, gun in hand and aimed at him. Nick stopped as soon as he opened the door.

"Put the cuffs back on," Nigel said. His eyes shifted between the floor and Nick, as if he was nervous. _About me trying something, or is it guilt?_

Nick hoped it was guilt. He groaned as he bent over and grabbed the cuffs. He put them on, wincing at the feel of steel again. As soon as he was secure and sat down on the couch, Nigel relaxed.

"The game's just getting good," Nigel said. He sat down by Nick, instantly making him uncomfortable. Nick shifted away from the lunatic.

He tried to think of something to say, something to convince Nigel to let him go. _But how to do it without him going nuts?_ Nick thought.

The game suddenly was cut off by news coverage. Nick frowned, wondering what it was.

The anchorwoman appeared, with a 'Breaking News' animation flashing by her head.

_"We're sorry to interrupt the game, but we have live coverage of the Stokes family press conference."_ The screen suddenly cut to a crowd of cameras and people, and focused on a banquet of microphones . . . and Nick's parents. Nick felt his stomach tighten, and he swallowed back the emotions suddenly running through him.

A man in a suit got up. Nick didn't recognize him. _"The Stokes would like to make a statement regarding their son, Nick."_

His dad came forward. He looked stern, just like a State Supreme Court judge. But Nick could see the fear in his eyes, and it made him take a sharp breath.

"Are those your parents, Nick?" Nigel asked, as if he were asking if Nick wanted a second helping of dinner. Nick ignored him.

_"We'd like to thank the members of the press who are carrying our message right now. Our son, Nick Stokes, was taken yesterday while simply doing his job. To the man who's holding our son, we beg of you to release him."_

Mr. Stokes paused, and Nick could see him swallowing hard several times.

_"Let him go, safely and unharmed."_ Nick's dad started to lose it, and quickly stepped away. The man in the suit filled the void.

_"We ask for the public's help. If you have seen Nick Stokes, or his suspected kidnapper, please call this number. 1-800---"_

"Kidnapper?" Nigel suddenly exclaimed. He gave a short laugh. "Nick, you should call them and set them straight."

Nick looked sharply at Nigel, but he was still looking at the screen. Emotions returned, and Nick found himself fighting for breath and control over himself.

"Nigel—" He stopped and another light bulb went off. "You're right." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nigel whip his head around to look at him. "I should set them straight on this."

Nigel studied Nick, his eyes suspicious again, yet with a light of hope in them as well.

"What would you tell them?" he asked slowly. He pushed up his glasses on his nose with the back of Nick's gun.

Nick looked back at the TV. Reporters were shouting questions at the man in the suit. _Tell him what he wants to hear. Tell him!_

"I'd tell them I'm just out with a friend," Nick said. He fought not to choke on the words. "You know, there's no sense in them worrying about me."

Crane looked away from Nick and suddenly stood up. He started pacing, gripping the gun tighter.

"It's always about you, isn't it, Nick?" Nigel said. His tone bordered on rage. "The press conference, your parents, everyone looking for _you_! And you never care about anyone else—it's only yourself!"

_Where the hell did this come from?_ Nick raised his bound hands submissively.

"Nigel, calm down. I'm not trying to be selfish here—"

"Don't lie to me," Nigel said. He stopped pacing and just glared at Nick. Nick's eyes flickered to the gun. "Of course it's about you. I'm not stupid." He took a definitive step towards Nick, raising the gun as he did.

"Whoa, Nigel—"

"Shut up, Nick!" He paused, and closed his eyes as if calming himself down. "You calling your parents would just alert everyone about where _you _are. It's not about us, our friendship. I've always looked out for you, Nick, and this is how you repay me?" His voice was climbing in anger and volume. "Manners, Nick!"

Suddenly he closed the distance between them and swung the gun at Nick's face. Nick's vision went black for a moment as the hard steel connected with his cheekbone. His head whipped back and Nick tried his best to suppress a groan.

"I'm tired of your lies, Nick," Nigel continued on his rampage. "You say one thing, but do another. How are we supposed to be friends if I can't trust you!" He started pacing again. "Tell me, Nick!"

Nick opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He raised his hands again, as if to calm Nigel down with a wave.

"Nigel, I'm . . ." _What do I say?_ He swallowed hard, his head bobbing as he did so. "I'm sorry."

Nigel nodded. "You should be." He stepped towards Nick and swung the gun at his face again. Nick let out a yelp as it hit the same spot, and he tumbled off the couch to the floor.

His vision was swirled but he was awake. His fingers probed the new gash on his face but he realized too late he should have paid attention to what was coming.

Suddenly he felt something against his forehead. Nick ordered his eyes to focus on what was going on.

Nigel Crane pressed the barrel of the gun to Nick's forehead.


	7. PR Muckups

a/n: This is a pretty short chapter, but my next one is long and just couldn't be split up. I'm completely flattered by the reviews—thanks a lot, and I hope you continue to like this story. For any Alias fans (if there are any left after Season 3), check out my other stories.

**PR Muck-ups**

"What did you think of the press conference?" Warrick asked Grissom. Gil raised an eyebrow at the tall man.

"What do you think I thought of it?" he asked back. Warrick smiled, one of the few any of them had seen lately.

"PR doesn't help us in a situation like this," Warrick answered. Grissom nodded. "Do you think the tip line might help?"

Grissom straightened up his desk, sorting the tapes he'd already seen and those still waiting for him.

"The tip line, the reward the Stokes have up for grabs, all of it won't help much. I don't think Nigel Crane will keep Nick anywhere a random person might see him." Grissom sighed. "I appreciate the Stokes' devotion to Nick, but they're getting in the way."

Warrick laughed.

"Have they been breathing down your neck too?"

Grissom cracked a smile. "Yes. And Brass's, and the Sheriff's."

"You think everyone would realize we're just as adamant about getting Nick back," Warrick said.

Grissom nodded, but turned back to his tapes.

Warrick watched him as he divided the tapes in neat piles. His leader was worried, just like all of them were. But while Catherine, Sara and Warrick had each taken a turn for a couple hours of sleep, Grissom hadn't. He was pushing himself, too much especially since none of their leads had produced anything. Warrick wondered if Grissom felt like he should have put the puzzle together sooner, to realize Jane Galloway wasn't the reason Nigel Crane emerged.

He shook his head to himself. Now wasn't a time for any of them to blame themselves. They needed to stay sharp. For Nick.

Grissom noticed Warrick hadn't left. He looked up from the tapes expectantly.

"Do you think he's still alive?"

Warrick hadn't meant to voice that question, but he knew he wasn't the only one wondering.

"We both know that each hour means less of a chance that he lives," Grissom said. "But if there's one thing I've learned from these tapes, it's that Nigel Crane depends on Nick."

Warrick furrowed his forehead and cocked his head to the side. "Depends on him?" Grissom nodded.

"For acceptance, friendship—without Nick, Crane feels lost," Grissom said. "I just hope Nick figures that out."

Warrick just hoped Grissom's analysis was that simple.

* * *

"Catherine!" Sara jogged down the hall to catch up with the blonde. "Lorna Gibson."

"You found her?" Catherine asked excitedly. Sara's step faltered.

"No," she said. "Well, sort of. She's coming back from a trip to Spain."

"When?" Catherine's eyes were wide with anticipation.

"Tomorrow," Sara said. "She's on a plane back already."

"Let's meet her at the airport," Catherine said. They nodded to each other.

"Yeah," Sara agreed. "Did you hear about the truck?" The two women walked down the hallway.

"Crane's, right?" Catherine filled in. "Brass filled me in. But no one's seen it since the convenience store."

It was another dead end. Sara was getting sick of those. All she wanted was to have Nick back. He'd always been a close friend—he was goofy, and egotistical, but as soft as men came behind that Texas exterior. Life had been glum without him.

She could hardly wait for Lorna Gibson to get back.


	8. Run

**Run**

Nick's eyes had teared up as Nigel pressed the gun into his skin. The look in Nigel's eyes was dark, evil.

Despite his fear, Nick forced himself to breathe.

"I don't want to disappoint you, Nigel," he said evenly, "but this isn't the first time I've had a gun at my face."

Nigel suddenly backed away, but the gun was still pointed at his face.

"Get up, Nick." His voice was shaky.

_He's losing it._

Nick got up, taking a step back for distance as he did.

"Down the stairs—back in your room," Nigel said. He swiped a hand at his face, rubbing away sweat by his eyes and glasses. The grip on the gun was tight, too tight for comfort.

Nick went down to the room and heard Nigel's footsteps close behind him. He turned to face the man just outside the room.

"Inside, Nick," Nigel said. Nick took a deep breath.

"Nigel. How do you want this to end?"

Nigel gave a small gasp, more of the strain finally seeping out of him. The gun started to shake right in Nick's eyeline.

"You think you know everything, Nick," he said. "But you're wrong. And I'll show you."

Nick didn't know what that meant, but he wasn't about to wait. Nick suddenly rushed Nigel, slamming his body against the hallway wall. Nigel yelled out, and a gun shot went off. He managed to push Nick back against the wall, and then lunged at him.

Nick saw it coming, pushed off the wall and turned to the side. His arms caught Nigel, and propelled him forward through the small room's doorway. Nick darted in the room just enough to grab the doorknob with two hands and quickly pull the door shut.

_Lock it, lock it, lock it._

Nigel screamed from inside and started banging on the door. Nick allowed himself to smile for the first time in awhile, and quickly ran up the stairs.

His body still hurt, but adrenaline covered it up. Nick immediately went for another window. He pulled back the curtains with his bound hands—

And stopped. This window was boarded up also. Nick checked the other windows in the room.

They all were boarded up.

"No, no no." _This can't be—_he shook his head and started looking for alternatives.

_Keys._He started searching the kitchen drawers, yanking out every one of them and overturning them. He went for another drawer when he spotted something on the floor.

_My cell phone._ Nick's heart raced. He quickly turned the phone on. The battery was low, but Nick hoped there was enough juice in it left.

"Just one call," he said aloud. Nigel was still yelling from the basement—Nick quickly dialed the number. He heard the receptionist pick up.

"Las Vegas Cri—"

"This is Nick Stokes," he quickly said. "I need you to trace my call. I'm on my cell phone, inside a house near Lake Mead, but I'm trapped here." He heard the receptionist take a deep breath.

"Tracing the call, Nick," she said. "I'm going to call Mr. Grissom over, all right?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah, quickly." He heard shouting over the line, and just prayed that the call was being traced correctly.

"NICK!!!!!" His heart leapt in his throat at Nigel's scream. Nick cradled the phone between his face and his shoulder, and reached for a chair. It was awkward, what with the phone and the handcuffs, but he made it work.

He picked it up and started swinging it into the boarded windows.

"Nick? Nick?"

He sighed in relief. Never before had he felt such relief at his boss's voice.

"Gris, he's still here," Nick said quickly. He swung the chair again and again as he talked. One of the boards cracked, but was still intact.

"What's that noise, Nick?"

"He boarded up the windows. The doors are locked and unlocked by key," Nick said with a gasp as he swung. "I'm trying to break through the boards."

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. Nick practically dropped the chair.

_The gun—Nigel's shooting at the door locks._ Nick made his swings quicker and harder.

"Gris, he's gonna get free. I gotta get out of here," Nick said. One of the boards broke completely as another bullet was fired below. Nick dropped the chair and grabbed at the boards, trying to force them with whatever strength he had.

"Nick? Listen, I've watched tapes of Crane, and I don't think he will hurt you," Grissom said. Nick almost rolled his eyes. "Stay put—we're tracing the call and we can get to your location soon."

Another board gave way. Nick stepped back and started kicking. He only needed one more board to fit through.

"He's already hurt me, Gris, and he's losing it." He grunted as he kicked the board. "I'm not sticking around for him to—"

"NICK!!"

He froze. The shout was closer. Nick swore and pocketed the phone. He kept the call on, but started out the window. He could hear footsteps coming up, and Nick felt his body freezing up.

_Don't freeze—get out!_ He got through the window and raced down the deck's stairs.

_He's got the truck still. If you're on foot, make sure he can't follow any other way._

Nick took off into the woods again. He knew he couldn't go to the same parking lot—he had to hide away from where Nigel could find him.

Suddenly he heard another gunshot, and felt something rip through his side. Nick cried out, but quickly stifled the noise. His hands immediately went to his right side.

_No time. Just run._

It was slower going, but Nick could hear Nigel's shouts behind him. But it seemed like he wasn't on Nick's trail. At least, that's what Nick hoped.

He kept moving, but pulled out his cell phone.

The call was still active, but the battery life waned each second.

"Gris, you still there?" Nick whispered into the phone.

"Nick! We heard a shot—are you okay?"

He huffed into the phone, panting from the exertion and the pain. "Yeah, relatively." He winced as his side stung and ached.

"Nick," it sounded like Warrick's voice all of a sudden, "are you hurt?" Nick had to smile at the pointed question.

"Yeah, man, I'm hurt," Nick said. "But it's good to hear your voice."

"We're all here," Sara piped up. "Hang in there, Nick." He smiled again at that. His phone beeped. Nick pulled the receiver away from his ear to see what was wrong.

The battery.

"Guys, I'm losing battery power," Nick said. He was suddenly afraid at that. He heard something snap behind him, and he froze. "I have to go. I'm sticking to the woods. Send search and rescue. And be careful—Crane's still out here."

The phone beeped again.

"Nick, get to roads—"

"No," Nick said quickly. He picked up his pace. "Nigel found me last time on the roads. I'm sticking to the woods."

The phone beeped again, and Nick heard the call disconnect.

He swore at it. _They know where you are. Just hang in there._

He heard something snap again, behind him. Nick turned, but couldn't see anything. It was getting darker by the second now. He'd be safe from Crane in the dark. _As long as that isn't him behind me_.

Nick kept moving, his side still aching and bleeding.

_Just a bit farther_.


	9. Mount Up

**Mount ****Up******

"He's near Lake Mead, all right," Brass said, holding up a piece of paper with the location on it. "He's near a rental property owned by one Lorna Gibson."

Catherine and Sara looked at each other, then Grissom.

"I guess we know why Crane paid her," Gil said. "How close are our people there?"

"Ten minutes away from the house," Brass said. "There are two cars, and more as soon as they can get there."

They started heading for the parking lot, with the rest of the team in tow.

"Warn everyone that Nigel Crane is armed and dangerous," Gil said with a grimace. "We heard gun shots in the background."

* * *

The ride out to Lake Mead was quiet yet anxious. Sara wrung her hands. She'd already checked her gun four times. Technically, the search fell under police jurisdiction, or Search and Rescue. But when it involved one of their own . . .

"You nervous?" Warrick asked as he drove. Sara shook her head. Two seconds later, she nodded.

"I'm more nervous for Nick than anything else," she said. Her friend nodded as well.

"Yeah, he didn't sound too good on the phone," Warrick said.

"Though that didn't stop him from trying to down-play it," Sara said. Nick hadn't gone into specifics, but that almost made it worse. Sara kept imagining him with multiple gunshot wounds and broken legs, while he crawled through the forest.

"Typical Nick," Warrick said. "He never wants anyone worry."

"Yeah, well, he failed miserably this time."

Warrick laughed. It felt good to do, and for Sara to hear. Suddenly, Sara thought of something.

"On the phone, Nick said that Crane found him on the roads last time," she said. "Do you think Nick got away once already?"

Warrick raised an eyebrow at that. "It's possible," he said. "He said he'd stick to the woods because of that. And that makes it harder for us to find him."

Sara nodded, but then stopped as a thought assailed her. "Harder for us, but also harder for Crane."

"True."

Sara stared ahead at the road and the other vehicles headed out to Lake Mead.

"Just as long as we find him first," Sara said quietly.

* * *

Nick collapsed on the ground. His chest heaved, and he could feel each time his heart beat through the hole in his side. He didn't know where Crane was, but he knew he had to stop.

Nick pulled up his shirt. It was completely dark now, and the chill around these parts wasn't something he enjoyed, but he had to fix himself up before he bled out.

He tried to unwrap the bandage around his chest with his handcuffed hands. His ribs were the last worry he had. He studied his gunshot wound in the dim moon light. He could see the shimmer of blood, and his fingers told him the wound was a through-and-through. Nick quickly straightened the bandage and started wrapping it around his waist. It was slow-going, almost painstakingly so, but he wrapped it as well as he could.

A cry escaped his throat as he pulled tight on the bandage. _Suck it up, Nick. You have to stop the bleeding._ He just hoped nothing important was hit by the bullet. He suspected he would be okay since he hadn't died yet, but the night was young.

Nick pulled down at the hem of his shirt, and also at his jacket. He had to stay warm, so he stood to keep moving.

His vision was swirling. The dizziness hit his stomach too, and Nick almost fell back. He caught himself on the trunk of a tree, steadying himself. He swallowed dryly, and willed the oncoming nausea to pass.

The swirling got worse.

_No, no, no—you can't pass out. Not now, man_. Nick started walking forward. _Walk it off. You can get by._

He hoped he was right.

* * *

"Grissom," he said, answering his phone.

"Gil, it's Jim," Brass said. "I just got word from the first on the scene. The house is empty. They're searching the area, but so far all they've got are some broken windows."

"Crane's not there?" Grissom repeated. He wanted Crane to be there, to be stupid or to give up. He wanted Nick to be safe. He'd already gone through so much, and Grissom didn't know how much more Nick could take.

"Crane's not here," Brass confirmed. "But his truck is."

Grissom almost hit the brakes of his SUV. "Then he followed Nick on foot." _He wants Nick back. But Nick has escaped—how will that affect Crane's actions?_

_Will he be desperate enough to hurt Nick?_

"Nick's already hurt," Grissom said aloud, forgetting about Brass on the phone for a moment. He shook his head. "Brass, it's a race now to find Nick first. He said he'd stick to the woods, and if Crane is in there tracking him, we'll have a problem."

"What do you want me to do?"

Grissom chewed on his lip for a second. "Get choppers ready with heat seekers. We're not far away now. I want my people on board too."

* * *

Nick didn't know when but he fell asleep. He didn't even remember stopping, but here he was, suddenly picking himself off the ground. Rough twigs and leaves stuck to his clothes. He could smell dirt, the earth around him. He groaned as he steadied himself on his feet.

That dizziness returned. His side no longer ached, but was sort of numb. His head, on the other hand, wasn't, but with all the blows Nigel dealt him, Nick figured it was a miracle his head hadn't exploded yet.

He wondered what time it was. The sky hadn't lightened yet for morning, and the woods were incredibly still. No birds, no crickets, just a slight breeze and darkness. The moon seemed to have disappeared behind some clouds. And now, everything looked the same.

_Which way did I come?_ More importantly, he didn't know which way to go. Nick swallowed, again feeling the grating of a dry throat.

_I wonder if they're looking for me yet._ He wasn't sure how long it'd been since he spoke to Grissom on the phone. _You better keep moving._

He took a wobbly step forward, then stopped. _If I keep going, will they find me?_

The first rule of being lost was to stay put. _Yeah, but you also could have a psycho killer after you._

It wasn't just a possibility. He knew Crane hadn't given up. Unless the police found him, Crane was still a danger. Nick shuddered. Nigel Crane spooked him. There wasn't a person in the world who made Nick's skin crawl like Crane did.

_Keep moving_. Nick took a deep breath, and continued through the woods. Twigs snapped under his boots, and he cringed as he realized how loud he was being.

His foot connected with something, and Nick stumbled. He tried to catch himself, but ended up just bracing his fall with his cuffed hands. His shoulder hit the ground next, and then his back as he rolled off the impact.

_Maybe I should just stay put._ Nick sighed. He felt so _tired_! He also felt cold, but he knew his jacket could only be expected to do so much.

_It's not just the jacket, man_. He didn't really want to think about that. He shut his eyes, and let himself relax.

_I wonder how Mom and Dad are._ The worry their bodies emitted during that press conference made Nick more anxious. The Stokes weren't easily shook up. He wondered if the rest of his family was around.

_You'll see them soon._ He started drifting off again.

Just as something in the dark approached.


	10. Push

**Push**

Sara studied the display. So far, it was dark, little lit up by heat below them. The chopper was noisy, covering up the _bleeps_ when the heat seeker found something, so Sara's eyes stayed glued to nothing else but the display.

Warrick tightened his harness. He'd gotten into one, just in case they had to repel down to the ground. Search and Rescue would normally do that, but Warrick insisted he join them—if they found Nick.

Sara had raised an eyebrow at his insistence. The unspoken words in the dispute were that Warrick left Nick alone once before, and he wasn't about to again. She allowed herself to glance up quickly at him. His face was solid, walled up to be strong, but yet so obviously tortured.

She looked back at the display as a bright green dot appeared on the screen.

* * *

_"Nick."_ He stirred a bit, willing his eyes to open, but not really finding the strength.

_"It's going to be all right." _He opened his eyes, but everything was dark and wavy.

_"I'm sorry I hurt you."_

That's when he recognized the voice. Nigel leaned over his body, prodding at his gunshot wound. Fear quickly shot through Nick's body, but he was too tired to use it to get himself away from Crane.

Something else caught Nick's attention. Over Nigel's guilt-ridden attention, Nick heard something else—something loud, like machinery, or an engine . . .

* * *

"Hold up!" Sara yelled. The screen continued to light up. "There's someone down there!"

The chopper immediately turned about, circling back. Warrick leaned in to see the screen. His heart raced as he watched it; sure enough, the screen light up with two dots.

_Two?_

"If it's Nick, then who's the other person?" Warrick shouted above the noise. Already, dread set in him. He knew who it had to be.

"They're moving!" Sara yelled. Warrick saw the two dots—one was moving more, and the other . . .

"Someone's being dragged!!" Warrick turned to the pilot. "The spotlight!" The powerful light shone down below them.

* * *

That darkness disappeared with blinding light, and Nick raised his cuffed hands to shield his eyes. He wasn't sure what was going on, but Crane was dragging him along.

"Hurry, Nick!" he heard. His chest hurt; Nigel held onto him and pulled him awkwardly. Nick tried to move, not to help Nigel, but just to see if everything was still working.

_But I'm so tired_. He felt his leg move a bit, but it suddenly sent a shot of pain to his right side.

Suddenly he heard gunshots, right next to him. Crane fired up at the light, one shot after the other until the noise subsided and Nick heard the clicks of an empty magazine.

He heard Crane swear, and then suddenly he was dropped. His back hit something sharp, a rock or something.

"Nick, I have to go," he heard. "But I'll come for you later."

_What?_

"I'm sorry, Nick!"

Crane ran off into the woods, while Nick lay still under the intense light.

* * *

"Let's go!" Warrick yelled. He immediately dropped his rope and started repelling down. He landed on the ground in record time, with a Search and Rescue guy behind him.

"Nick!" He ran to his friend's side. _Damn!_ Nick didn't look so good. His face had a couple of gashes and scrapes. He looked pale, and it didn't take much to notice the gunshot to his side. Blood covered his clothing on the side.

"Nick, you awake?" The Search and Rescue guy jumped in, feeling Nick's pulse and checking his pupils for response. Nick mumbled something, but Warrick missed it.

"It's okay, man," Warrick said, just as he noticed the cuffs on Nick's hands. "We'll get you home." He stood up and waved to the chopper. Seconds later, a large basket was lowered to bring Nick up.

* * *

Grissom wondered if the chopper was having any luck. The people on the ground had been gone for awhile now. Gil carefully walked through the house. The living area and kitchen were a mess—broken glass, a chair, wood, and utensils were spread all over the place. Catherine snapped photographs of the scene.

Outside the window, on the deck, Grissom found blood. It wasn't much and it was also dried. _Did someone cut himself on the glass?_ He swabbed it and pocketed the evidence.

He moved downstairs. He shined his flashlight down the hallway, and stopped outside a small room.

There were dents in the plaster—body-sized dents. He also found slugs in the wall. The doorframe was splintered, and the door itself contained a couple of bullet holes. Grissom swallowed and proceeded into the room.

"Catherine," Gil called out.

"Yeah!" she yelled from upstairs. Gil crouched down by the floor. Embedded in the carpet fibers was glass—thin glass.

Catherine came up behind him, and Gil shined the light on the glass.

"What do you think that is?"

She bent down, taking a closer look.

"Glass."

Grissom rolled his eyes, but waited.

"It's thin," Catherine continued. "Not very strong . . ." She stood up and began looking around the room. "Gris."

He stood and looked at her. She was staring at the ceiling, which had a fixture for a light bulb, but no bulb itself.

"Did Crane kill the bulb? Keep Nick in the dark, maybe?" he speculated aloud. Catherine shrugged.

"Maybe."

Grissom knelt down again and gathered the glass. He grabbed piece by piece with his tweezers, and then froze when he saw—

"Blood." Grissom turned the glass, studying the dried red liquid. Part of him shuddered to think this was Nick's blood, that maybe Nigel Crane had been sick enough to use something so ordinary to torture his CSI.

"Grissom," Catherine called out. "A chain." Her tone was emotionally reserved, detached even as she fingered the chain with gloved hands. Grissom went to her side. The chain hung from a closet, securely wrapped around the clothes bar.

Grissom's blood began to flow rapidly. He gritted his teeth as he stared at the offending metal.

"Bag it."

He left the room, heading straight up the stairs and outside. He immediately started pacing back and forth in the driveway. A few police officers were around, securing the property and coordinating search efforts.

It killed Grissom knowing that Nick wasn't safe. Especially since he wasn't even safe in Vegas. He thought about the evidence he'd found. The phone call with Nick and the gunshots in the background.

Gil's pulse surged again, and he quickly felt for it, timing it against his watch.

His cell phone rang, interrupting his pulse-check. He grimaced as he took it out, fearing the worst case scenario.

"Grissom," he answered. His grim face started to evolve as he listened to Warrick. "You did? Where are you?" He listened again as he started to run back to the house. "I'll meet you there."

He snapped his phone shut and yelled, "Catherine! They've got Nick!"


	11. Over Indeed

a/n: Thanks everyone for your reviews! Please continue to let me know what you think (nicely, if possible). I'll post chapters as I have them, but be patient if I don't keep up the two a day thing. :o)

**Over Indeed**

Nick was unconscious, but that was expected. The medical staff of the Urgent Care facility had bandaged him up, cleaned up his appearance, and started him on blood and an IV. Nick was lucky, the doctors had said. The damage could have been worse.

"Yeah," Warrick huffed, "if Nigel Crane had aimed 5 centimeters to the left." He shook his head as the others nodded somberly.

They all sat around Nick's bed, just waiting. The notoriety of the case must have helped bend the rules somewhat, because the doctors didn't object to the colleagues and friends sitting in his room.

The TV was on, muted, but quite lively as a reporter eagerly stated that Nick Stokes had been found, alive. The CSI team had noticed a dull roar of noise outside the hospital, and combined with bright lights and the broadcast, it seemed the press had found where Nick was being treated.

"His parents are on their way," Brass said as he entered the room. He took a look at Nick, his eyes falling on the obvious bandages on his face. He frowned, but turned his attention to the group. "I have two armed officers outside the door. They've been instructed to allow only you guys and his parents inside, plus medical staff."

"Have they seen Crane's photo?" Sara asked. Brass nodded.

"They're on alert. Everyone else is still looking for Crane, but so far, nothing," Brass said.

"You didn't get him?"

All heads turned to Nick, whose eyes were closed but his lips moving. Everyone stood up and leaned towards him, looking at each other excitedly.

"No, sorry, kid," Brass said with a chuckle.

"How're you feeling?" That came from Sara and Warrick simultaneously. Catherine stepped out of the room to call the doctor as Nick opened his eyes. He swallowed, blinking as he did.

"I'll live," he said. He shot a look at Grissom. "Right?"

Gil smiled at the young CSI and nodded. He opened his mouth to verbalize his relief when he noticed a disturbed look on Nick's face.

"What is it, Nick?" he asked. Nick frowned, and started shaking his head.

"I just can't remember what . . ." he trailed off. He seemed exhausted, but something pushed him to try again. "Was Nigel there, when I was rescued?"

Warrick shot a look to Sara. "You remember that?"

Nick shook his head. "Just bits and pieces. Was he?" he asked. Warrick nodded, and Nick bit on his lip. His body seemed to slump further into the pillows and bed.

"What's wrong?" Sara asked. She frowned and tucked her brown hair behind her ears. Nick closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, wincing as he exhaled.

"He said he'd come back for me," Nick said quietly. "I had hoped that was just a nightmare."

The CSIs glanced at each other. Fear, disgust, and anger were clearly the mixture of emotions among them. Grissom gritted his teeth, and gave Nick his best determined look.

"It was a nightmare, Nick," he said. "It's over."

* * *

Nick was transported back to Las Vegas the next day, for one more day in the hospital under observation. His parents were at his side constantly now, so the CSIs started to process the evidence.

Greg glared into the microscope, studying glass fragments while waiting for the DNA results to come back. His music was a light classical piece, no doubt unusual for him, but fitting for his mood and friendly for the tension in the lab.

Grissom was pushing everyone to get the story constructed. He was confident that Nigel Crane would be found, one way or another. Greg sort of wondered what his boss meant by that. He also wondered why evidence mattered so much when they had an eye witness that was a professional in the field of criminal investigation. Nick would know what happened. _But you have to have physical findings to back it up._ Greg sighed. Work could certainly be tedious.

His machines beeped, and suddenly a piece of paper fluidly emerged from his laser printer. Greg's eyes poured over the results. He raised an eyebrow, and made his way to Grissom's office.

Grissom was back to watching video tapes again. _"I'm trying to figure out where he would go,"_ he'd said. That hadn't helped before, but Greg wasn't about to tell him that. He simply held up the paper for Grissom to grab.

"DNA results from two types of glass," Greg started. "The first was a typical window pane. The blood came back as Nick's. The second glass was indeed your standard room light bulb, but the blood on it actually belongs to . . ." He delayed the answer with an imaginary drum roll in his mind, while Grissom just stared at him.

"Who, Greg?"

He cleared his throat, dismissing the drum line. "Nigel Crane." Grissom looked confused, so Greg continued. "I also found a print on the light bulb fragments. Just a partial, but enough to show that Nick actually handled that bulb sometime before it broke."

"Interesting," was all Gil said. Greg nodded, but didn't understand precisely what it meant.

"Sooooo," he said, baiting a discussion, "did Nick break the bulb?" _And why?_ was the unvoiced question in his mind. Grissom just stood up.

"I'm not certain," he said, throwing on his jacket. "But I think Nick can tell us."

* * *

Grissom hadn't wanted to get a statement from Nick yet. He'd warned Brass to back off for now. Between the physical damage Nick had suffered and the weird factor of Nigel Crane, he thought Nick just might need some space.

But the evidence results were coming back, and Grissom had to know what happened. The pieces weren't in the right order, and that was messing him up.

It was 9 pm, two nights after Nick had been found. Grissom waved to the guards at Nick's door, and flashed his ID badge. They nodded back to him.

Mr. and Mrs. Stokes seemed to have stepped out for awhile, which Grissom was grateful for. Nick smiled as Gil entered.

"Hey," he said simply. "They're grabbing dinner," he added, filling in for the unspoken question about his parents.

"How are you feeling today?" Grissom asked, taking a seat next to Nick's bed. The young CSI sat up, grimacing slightly but sighing as he leaned back.

"I'm okay. The doctor said I can leave tomorrow."

That surprised Gil. He thought the gunshot wound was serious enough to warrant more than just a couple of days in the hospital. Then again, it had been a through-and-through that missed anything important.

Gil finally smiled. "That's good," he said. "You'll feel better resting at home." He said it, but doubted it at the same time. He'd sent someone to check Nick's place, and his attic was just like Jane Galloway's.

Nick didn't say anything for awhile, but finally cleared his throat. "I . . . I think Crane has been watching me. My house," he said. His eyes focused on the bed sheets. Nick fumbled with his hands, the discomfort obvious to him.

"Nick, I think you should know that we did find evidence," Grissom started. "Crane _was_ in your house."

Nick simply nodded and studied his hands. Grissom noticed the cuts on his palms, and decided to change the subject.

"How did you cut your hands?" The cuts were already healing, fading away, unlike his other wounds which would linger for awhile.

"A window. I tried to get away," Nick said, "day after I was taken." He swallowed and gave himself a moment. "I broke the glass with a chair, climbed through it. The glass cut my hands as I got out."

Grissom nodded, but glanced to the side—his classic sign of thinking ahead. "What about Crane?" He noticed Nick flinched ever so slightly at the name. "How did you get by him?"

Nick took another breath. "I was locked up in the basement and handcuffed. I couldn't fight him off very well, so I unscrewed the light bulb." Grissom started to nod.

"And when Crane came back, you used it against him."

"Yeah," Nick said. "Too bad he caught me later anyway."

Grissom cocked his head to the side. "What happened?" He knew Nick was struggling with all this, but he needed to know—and Nick needed to let it out.

"I took off into the woods," he said. "I wound up at a parking lot, right by the lake. Crane pulled up in his truck just a few seconds later." He sighed, and Grissom could see in his eyes that he was reliving the scene in his mind. "If he hadn't had my gun, I could have made it. But . . ." He shook his head.

"What?" Grissom prodded. He heard Nick sigh again.

"I was afraid he might actually pull the trigger." He cleared his throat and shifted his body. "He must have knocked me out after that."

Grissom waited a moment before saying anything else. "Do you still want to talk about it?" His voice was soft, sensitive, which was unusual for him. Even so, Nick shook his head.

"You need to know," he said, "for the investigation."

Grissom nodded. "There was one thing I found that I wondered about." Nick raised an eyebrow. "A chain."

The younger CSI nodded. "After I escaped, he chained me in that closet. No more surprises, I guess."

"But you still got away again," Gil filled in. "How?"

Nick stopped to think. He didn't say anything for a full minute, just lost in his memories and emotions.

"You know, Gris," he started. "The worst thing about it was not being able to predict how he'd act." Nick's voice was low and shaky. "He brought me up to the living room after awhile. He let me get cleaned up, eat dinner, watch TV . . . I might as well have been his guest. And then he got set off again."

"From what?" Grissom shifted closer to Nick.

"Press conference," Nick answered shortly. "He said something about us being friends, and him not being a kidnapper. I played along, and he knew. He knew I was just playing along, and got mad." He raised a hand to his face. "That's when I got this," he said, fingering the gauze over his cheek.

"So how did you get free?"

Nick swallowed again, and Grissom could see the uncertainty in his eyes.

"He was putting me back down in the basement," Nick said. "He was so upset. He had a gun to my head the whole time. But I threw him off, and locked him in the basement."

"Is that when you called us?"

Nick nodded. "I was trying to find the keys to get out, but found my phone instead."

"I'm glad you did," Grissom said, a smile starting to spread over his face. Nick saw it, and finally relaxed enough to smile himself. "If it weren't for that, we might not have found you yet."

"Or alive, at least," Nick added. His smile vanished, and he leaned back in his bed.

Grissom stood and patted Nick's hand. "Hey," he said, getting Nick's focus. "You made it." Nick nodded, and Gil turned to leave.

"Hey Gris," he said softly. Gil turned back. "Thanks."

Grissom smiled again. "It wasn't the same without you, Nick." He left the room, leaving Nick to rest with a slight smile on his face.


	12. Home Again

**Home Again**

Warrick slowed the SUV as he rounded the corner to Nick's house. His SUV was parked in the driveway, as if he were already home. Nick gulped.

The day was pretty gray, overcast and cool. The dreary atmosphere seemed to damper Nick's already down mood. He guessed Warrick noticed it, but was grateful he didn't say anything.

His parents flew back to Texas today. They were relieved, of course, that he was better now. His mom had tried to tell him they could stay, but Nick knew better. They had obligations, and what he wanted more than anything was just to get back to normal.

But looking at his home, he knew things couldn't be too normal.

Warrick turned the car off, and got out. Nick reluctantly followed.

"Hey man," Warrick said, "you coming?" Nick nodded. He started towards the front door, subconsciously clutching his side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move.

"Mr. Stokes!"

Nick quickly faced the person, or persons, as it turned out. Two men approached him, and judging by their confidence and overbearing manner, Nick knew what they were.

Warrick must have as well, because he stood as a buffer between Nick and the reporters.

"Mr. Stokes, how do feel knowing Nigel Crane is still free?" one of them said. Warrick shut them down.

"You're trespassing on private property," he said in his firm voice. His towering frame wasn't one to take lightly, and the reporters backed up. "Leave him alone." He continued towards them until the two men retreated to the other side of the street.

Nick couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Thanks, man." Warrick smiled proudly.

"I thought they would have killed the story after you got back," Warrick said, shaking his head.

They went inside, and immediately it felt strange to Nick. He returned to his blank expression as he looked around.

"Are you going to be okay staying here?" Warrick asked. He stared at Nick's rigid posture and clenched jawline. "I mean, Brass wants to send a couple of uniforms to stay with you."

Nick shook his head, even though a guard or two was tempting. "I don't want to have to worry about two guys standing outside my door," he said. "I'll be fine."

Warrick shot him a look.

"Seriously, Nick."

Nick matched the look. "Seriously, Warrick, I'll be all right." His friend raised an eyebrow at that, but let it go.

"Okay. I better get back," he said, heading for the door. Nick nodded.

"Thanks for the ride." Warrick just waved that off.

"Nick, get some rest," he said, pausing at the door. "You can't get back to work anyway, so just chill."

Work was the last thing on his mind right now, but he gave Warrick a reassuring nod.

"Hey Warrick," Nick said, catching the man before he shut the door behind him. "Let me know if you guys find him."

Warrick stared at Nick, concern washing over his normal laid-back features. Nick knew it was a tell of his really worry, but luckily Warrick didn't play it up.

"I will."

And Nick was left alone. He stood still in the middle of his living room, just listening for noises, scraps in the attic, anything.

He heard only silence screaming back at him. It pressured him, and suddenly Nick found himself darting from room to room, throwing open cabinets and closets, looking under his bed and in every corner. He grabbed a chair and stood on it, just below his attic access. His body was still sore, but he managed to lift himself up into the attic.

It was empty. No surveillance equipment. No personal items belonging to Nigel Crane. Just dust and insulation. He wondered if Grissom had already had everything cleared out that Crane might have left here.

Nick carefully walked through the attic. He checked the corners and the beams. His eyes fell on a spot in the wood. Nick knelt down, his eyes never looking away from what he saw.

It was a small circular hole. Slowly he leaned down closer, bracing himself for what he'd see. He stared through the hole.

And saw his bed. He was directly above it.

Nick's stomach started to churn, but he fought the nausea. He quickly looked around other holes.

Soon he found himself in his kitchen, downing a glass of water to keep himself from throwing up. His lungs were expanding and contracting too quickly to be healthy. Nick gasped for air, for control.

He'd found holes to every room, sometimes two holes for different angles.

_Just like Jane Galloway._

_ But so much worse._

Nick dropped the glass in the sink, not caring if it shattered or not. He darted back to his room and started throwing a few things into a bag. He grabbed his spare gun and some clips too and added them to the bag.

He locked the door behind him, and fought himself not to run to his SUV. He drove off quickly, and didn't notice the car following him until he was on the main roads.

Nick changed lanes, and noticed the white car behind him do the same. He turned off to the road a hotel was on, where he planned on staying for awhile. Nick glanced at the rearview mirror, and the white car turned as well.

He weaved through the parking lot, and suddenly turned into a spot. He watched in the mirrors as the white car came up and parked behind him.

Nick's heart pounded till it hurt. He quickly fumbled in his bag and pulled out his gun. A part of him was terrified, and another part of him wanted this to end.

He jumped out of his car, his gun at his side. As he went around his SUV, he almost ran in to a tall blonde woman.

She shrieked, and Nick couldn't help but do the same. She'd come from the white car.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" Nick yelled at her. She gasped and then glared at him.

"ME?! You're the one with the gun!" she shouted. Nick felt his heart rate dropping and sighed. He tucked the gun in the back of his jeans.

"Why were you following me?" he asked, taking his tone down a notch.

The blonde swept her fingers through her hair and ran a hand over her business suit.

"I saw you leave your place in a hurry."

Nick narrowed his eyes at her. "You were watching me?" She nodded reluctantly.

"I'm a reporter with the—"

Nick just turned away from her and started back to his car. He grabbed his bag and locked his car.

"Wait!" he heard her say. Nick walked towards the hotel, fuming at this development. _You're going to look nuts to the press now too. _

_ Just what you need._

He shook his head to himself. Suddenly the woman grabbed his arm.

"Nick, please," she said, "just hear me out." Nick shrugged off her hold but paused for a second.

"Quickly," he said. She nodded.

"I've been researching cases of criminals getting too close to investigators—police, CSI, DAs, whatever," she said. "I really think your story is one that needs to be told. It'd add a new perspective."

"What makes you think I want my story told?" Nick said, challenging her. "I don't want more criminals getting ideas from your article, and I certainly don't want another stalker, reporter or not."

He turned away again. But he heard her footsteps behind him.

"So Crane was stalking you?"

Nick didn't grace that with an answer. He just walked through the lobby and to the front desk. A concierge addressed him immediately.

"May I help you?"

Nick nodded. "I need a room please, preferably one on the higher floors." The concierge nodded and started typing away in his computer system.

"Nick, are you here now because you're afraid of him?" The blonde woman wouldn't give up. The concierge raised an eyebrow.

"Back off, or I'll get a TRO against you," Nick warned in a muttered voice. She glared at him, but didn't move away.

"Miss," the concierge said, "on behalf of the privacy of all our guests, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." The reporter glared at him next, but the concierge was unfazed. He picked up a phone. "Please send security to the front desk."

The blonde huffed at that, and left the lobby.

Nick shot a grateful look to the man. "Thanks." The concierge just smiled.

"No need, Mr. Stokes. Would you like a queen- or king-sized bed?"


	13. Stalker 2

a/n: Yeah, it's coming together with this chapter. Hope y'all like it!

**Stalker #2**

Nick woke up the next morning to his cell phone ringing. He groaned as he turned over to grab it.

"Stokes," he said tiredly.

"Nick." It was Sara. "Where are you?" She sounded a bit upset.

"Hotel," Nick said, rubbing his eyes. "My place was just weirding me out a bit." He heard her sigh.

"You had us freaking out over here," Sara said. "How are you feeling now?" Nick rolled out of his bed and quickly caught himself on the bedpost.

"Okay. I chewed out a reporter yesterday, so I'm feeling a bit better," Nick said with a faint smile. He heard Sara laugh.

"Yeah, Warrick told us."

"No, this was a different one," Nick said. "She actually followed me to the hotel."

"Psycho."

"Yeah."

He heard Sara take a deep breath over the phone. "Well, we just wanted to make sure you're okay. Call us if you need anything, okay?" she said.

"I will." Nick set his phone down and looked around the room. He hadn't really noticed it yesterday. The first thing he'd done was check the windows (even though he was on the 11th floor) and put his gun under his pillow.

_And what am I going to do today?_

He got ready and started wandering around the Strip. Why, he didn't know. He didn't have anything else to do.

Technically, he wasn't supposed to be out and about, but Nick didn't really want to sit around and worry about Nigel Crane.

But then he started thinking about Crane, how he could be anywhere. Nick quickly left the roulette table at the MGM Grand. As he left the lobby, though, he saw her.

It was that blonde reporter again. He glared at her, and quickly cut through a crowd of tourists.

"Nick!" he heard behind him. He sighed. He didn't want to rehash yesterday.

Nick clutched his side, noticing it this time. It was starting to ache, just a dull tenderness that reminded him he shouldn't be here. He grimaced and moved on, heading for where he left his car.

He knew she was behind him again. Nick sighed and finally stopped, but he didn't turn around. He waited for her to come around and face him.

"Nick," she said, out of breath. "Please, two questions, that's all."

"My question first," Nick interrupted. "Who are you?"

"Sam Davis," she said, extending a hand. Nick ignored it. "My questions: One, what happened while you were kidnapped? And two, are you afraid of Nigel Crane?"

Nick stared hard at the woman. He could hear the blood rushing through him, the building anger and disbelief. He could also feel his body wearing down. His stunned silence lasted for awhile, while the crowds around them moved on.

"Sam," he said, fixing her with a hard glare, "Why do you think I would tell you anything?"

"It must have been hard for you," she said. "Traumatic." She took a step towards him, and placed a hand on his arm. Nick looked down at the contact, then back at her.

"Yes, it was," Nick said. "But what makes you think I'd tell you of all people?" He stepped back, breaking off her advance. As he moved, a sudden pain shot through his side. He winced, but tried to cover it up.

"Are you all right?" Sam stepped forward again, laying a hand on his shoulder this time.

"I'm fine. Just leave me alone." Nick turned away and walked on his way to his car. He could hardly hide a limp from his movement.

* * *

"So Nick's at a hotel?" Grissom said. Catherine nodded.

"Sara said he was freaked out, being at home," she said. That didn't surprise Grissom. In fact, he should have anticipated it.

"We should have made arrangements for him," he said. He shook his head. "Anything new on Crane?"

Catherine shook her head. "We can't find out anything more about his life. He seems to have come from nowhere before he came here."

"And no one's seen him," Grissom added. He sighed and took off his glasses. "You know, Crane's good at being invisible. I don't know if he meant to be or not, but he's stayed under people's radar before."

Catherine nodded. "And he's doing it again. Do you think he's still after Nick?" There was no hesitation in Grissom's nod.

"Everything in those tapes points to Nick," Grissom said. "Jane Galloway was a gift for Nick, as twisted at that sounds. I don't think Nigel would move on to a new person."

"Unless it too was a gift for Nick," Catherine pointed out. Grissom froze and looked at the blonde.

* * *

Nick couldn't take it anymore. Sure, his body was still achy, and sure, hiding in his room had its advantages. But he was so bored that he'd begun to stack the free toiletries and glasses into an aesthetically-pleasing tower.

He grabbed his jacket, gun, and wallet, and left his room.

He got to the lab and inside without anyone noticing. Then again, it was 10 o'clock at night. When Nick reached the lounge, he saw Sara and Catherine talking over Greg's coffee. They both looked up when he came into the room.

"What are you doing here?" Sara immediately scolded. Catherine shot him that parent look, and Nick held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Nice to see you all too," he said. "I got bored."

"Well, you're not working," Catherine said. She had that no-nonsense attitude in place, and Nick felt the need to take cover.

"No, you're not," came a voice from behind him. Nick knew who it was without turning around.

"Hey Gris," he said. Grissom walked by him to get a cup of coffee. "I know I'm not supposed to work—"

"You're not going to convince me otherwise," Gil said. Nick nodded and tried again.

"I know, but—"

"But nothing—you should be in bed," Sara filled in. Nick threw up his hands in frustration.

"Just let me get one sentence out, please," he said, looking from her face to each of the others. They all waved for him to go on. "Thank you. As I was saying, I'm not here to work or obsess about Crane, or anything. I just need to get out."

"So go see a movie or go on a date," Grissom said. Nick rolled his eyes.

"Come on, man, I just want things to be back to normal," he said. He didn't want to admit it, but he was starting to sound desperate. "Please, just let me stay, even if I'm not working. Give me a book to read, for all I care."

Gil glanced at Catherine and Sara, then back to Nick.

"Fine," he said, turning to a bookshelf by the breakroom's kitchenette. He picked a book off of the shelf and tossed it to Nick. "Read this."

Nick caught the book and read the title.

"'The Nevada Entomological Guide.' Gee, thanks, Grissom." He shot his boss a look, but Grissom merely shrugged and pointed to the couch. Nick sighed and flopped down on it.

* * *

Grissom frowned as he heard Brass's new case. "I'll be right there." He hung up and grabbed his kit.

Warrick was in the breakroom, smirking at Nick as he woke up and pretended he never fell asleep in the first place. Grissom poked his head in the room.

"Warrick, let's go. We've got a new case." Warrick jumped up from his seat.

"What is it?" he asked. Grissom's eyes fell on the book he gave Nick. It looked like the young CSI had only gotten five pages into it.

"Female DB, a reporter named Samantha Davis," Grissom said. He heard Nick gasp and saw the color drain from his face.


	14. Hauntings

a/n: For those of you checking back today for a second update, here it is—

**Hauntings**

Samantha Davis.

32 years old.

Ambitious reporter.

Single, no kids.

Cause of death: suffocation.

Warrick frowned over the body. Even though she'd been bugging Nick, he didn't feel any satisfaction in her death. That was probably a good thing.

He snapped some photos of her, documenting the body. As he stepped back for a different angle, he noticed something beneath her. It was white, a paper of sorts.

He knelt down by it and snapped another photo. Then he moved a gloved hand and picked up the paper. It was folded.

"Warrick?" Grissom came to Warrick's side. "What is that?" Warrick just shook his head and started to unfold the paper.

Both men sucked in their breath when they saw what it said.

**_She won't bother you again, Nick._**

* * *

Nick stared blankly at the book in front of him. He hadn't read a word since the team left. Part of him wanted to go along, but he knew he wouldn't be allowed to. Part of him was glad he was here, at the lab, where it was safe.

Grissom had called about the note.

Crane was still out there, and very much aware of where Nick was and who he spoke with. _And now he's killed again._

_For me._

A shudder ran through him.

"Oh, Nick," a voice said, interrupting his nightmare. "I didn't know you were back." Nick looked away from the book to see the receptionist.

"Hi," he said meekly and with a half-hearted smile. She smiled sweetly back at him.

"You have some messages and a package up front," she said. "I was waiting until you came back to tell you, but I guess you're back now." She smiled again, and went on her way.

Nick numbly stood up and followed her to the front desk. She handed him the wad of messages and a small package, and Nick went back to the breakroom.

Most of the messages were from the press, requesting interviews. They were old. Nick chucked them in the trash. He picked up the package. It was a padded envelope, with his name written simply on the surface. There was no postage on it.

Nick opened the envelope. There was something weighted inside. He dumped the contents into his hand.

There was a note and a watch.

Nick's breath stopped as he eyed the watch. It was his. The one Nigel Crane had taken. He just stared at it.

* * *

"Nick's going to torment himself about this," Sara commented to Catherine as they walked back into the lab.

"Yeah, well, he shouldn't," Catherine said. "We just need to get Crane." She sighed and brushed her hair away from her eyes. Ahead of her was Nick, sitting in the breakroom where the team had left him.

The two women entered the room. Catherine was stunned to see Nick completely still.

Except for his hand. It was shaking, slightly tossing around what he held.

She knelt by him, gently shaking him.

"Nick?"

He shook his head, as if to bring himself out of whatever shock he faced. He never glanced at Catherine or Sara, but merely held up the watch for them to see.

"It's mine," he said simply. Catherine shot a look to Sara.

"And . . ." Sara prodded. Nick swallowed.

"And Crane took it from me when . . ." He swallowed again, more urgently, like he was trying to keep something down. "It came to the front desk."

Catherine's jaw dropped. _He's been here._ Her eyes traveled from the watch to a piece of paper on the table top. She could see handwriting on it, and gently opened it.

**_Nick—I thought you may want this back, at least for now._**

**_See you soon._**

**_Nigel_**.

* * *

The CSIs divided up the evidence from Sam Davis' murder. Combined with the notes at the crime scene and with Nick's watch, there was enough to process.

But it wasn't as urgent. They all knew who did this. It was just a matter of finding him and stopping him before anyone else got hurt.

Nick hadn't moved much. He sat in a corner, watching the others work. He didn't dare go back to his hotel yet, although he didn't feel much safer at the lab anymore. Nigel Crane had just walked in and handed someone the package. Archie was pulling up the front desk's security footage right now.

_This won't be over until he's caught. You can't go back to normal life._ He didn't know if he'd ever be back to that. Nick watched as Greg scurried from his lab to Grissom's office, no doubt with DNA results confirming Nigel's crimes.

Nick wanted to help. Not just help, but stop this. He wanted Crane gone—one way or another. _But how?_

It wasn't enough to process evidence, theorize or chase dead ends. He appreciated everyone's efforts, but it hadn't gotten them anywhere.

_And Crane's still out there, watching you while you look for him without results._

Nick sat up straight, a sudden thought in his mind. He quickly left the room and made his way to Grissom's office.

Greg was just leaving, and Nick didn't hesitate to shut the door behind him. Gil raised an eyebrow at that.

"What is it?" he asked.

Nick took a deep breath and started pacing the short width of the office. His ideas were still organizing themselves, and he was trying to solidify the courage he needed.

"I know how to get Nigel," Nick said. Grissom leaned forward. "You're not going to like this."

Gil raised an eyebrow at that.

"Go on."

Nick nodded and took another breath. "He's obviously following me still. We just can't see him." He stopped pacing and faced Grissom directly. "And I haven't made myself accessible lately."

Gil started to shake his head slowly. He was seeing where Nick was headed.

"Before you say no, hear me out," Nick interrupted. He quickly sat down, and paused a moment. The fear inside of him and the desire for life as he used to know it flooded him. He gulped and looked Grissom in the eye. "I'm not going to be able to move on and live my life if he's still out there. I'd run the risk that anyone I'm ticked off at would wind up dead. And I'd never feel safe."

"Yes, but if you're thinking about—"

Nick just held up a hand. "Gris, please!" His sudden outburst silenced Gil. "Please. What I'm suggesting puts me in danger, yes. But at least I'm expecting it. And we get to Crane quickly."

Grissom sighed and leaned forward on his elbows. He braced his chin in his hands and stared at his desk. "You want to be bait. How do you know he'll kidnap you again?"

Nick shot him a look. "You've seen the notes, Gris. He thinks our friendship has been interrupted." He had to fight back a gag reflex as he said that. "I just need to go out more. Make myself easy to kidnap again."

"Except this time with a tracker and microphone on you," Grissom said. Nick nodded, but noted Gil's look. He was glancing to the side, with a disbelieving expression. "You've been 'available' already, when he's seen you with Sam Davis. Why didn't he already take you?"

Nick opened his mouth to respond, but failed with any answer. He sat back in his chair, momentarily defeated.

_Why didn't he already kidnap me again? Or why didn't he just come after me, before Jane Galloway?_

Grissom's expression lightened with excitement and knowledge.

"You came to him," he said. Nick frowned.

"What?"

"You were at his house. You were investigating him, but Crane saw it as you willingly coming," Gil said.

"Even though he tied me up," Nick pointed out with a bitter twinge to his voice. "So if I went back to his house …"

"Or some place associated with Nigel Crane, he might just take the bait," Grissom finished.

Nick slowly smiled, despite the rising fear inside him. "So I take it you approve." Gil just raised an eyebrow again, but slowly nodded.

"Let's talk to Brass."


	15. Bait

a/n: My next chapter is giving me some trouble, so don't expect a second post today. But I'll get it up as soon as it's good. For now, enjoy this one.

**Bait**

Nick's palms were sweaty. He could feel his pulse racing as he climbed the stairs to Nigel's home. Part of him wondered if he was there. _Probably not._ The police had been watching the place since Nick was found.

He knocked on the door, and consciously patted the audio equipment. But it wasn't strapped to his chest. Panic surged through him, and Nick instinctively went for his gun.

It wasn't there either.

Suddenly the front door opened, and Nick was face to face with Nigel Crane.

Nick gasped and suddenly sat upright in his bed. He grabbed his gun under his pillow and aimed around the room.

_Where—the hotel . . ._ He sighed and wiped a hand over his damp face. _You're okay. _

_Just a dream._ Nick put the gun back under his pillow and got out of bed. His sheets were twisted and damp from his sweat.

He went to the kitchenette and poured himself a glass of juice. He hadn't thought that he'd be so nervous about baiting Nigel Crane. Grissom had talked to Brass, and the plan was in place. Tomorrow it'd be put in motion.

But tonight, he was still worried. He worried that Crane had already managed to infiltrate this hotel and his room. Brass had two officers outside his door for that reason. Nick felt silly for it, but he told himself it'd be over soon.

He hoped.

* * *

Greg taped down the wires on Nick's skin. The recording device was strapped to his chest, ready to roll.

"Okay, you're all set," Greg said. "You just have to switch it on before you leave." Nick nodded and pulled his white t-shirt down. He then buttoned up a gray shirt over it—he figured he needed slightly looser clothing for this.

"Oh, your tracker," Greg said suddenly, snapping his fingers as he remembered. He scurried around the lab until he found the small device. It was a thin adhesive plastic strip, like a 5-in Band-Aid. "This thing is higher tech than high tech. I know a guy at the FBI." He handed it to Nick.

Nick stared at it. "Uh, where do I put this?"

Greg laughed. "Anywhere. Skin, clothing, it doesn't matter," he said. Nick nodded and lifted his shirts, slapping the adhesive tracker on his abs.

"Okay," Nick said with a sigh. He shook out his shoulders like a boxer about to go in the ring, and turned for the door.

Grissom and Brass were waiting for him.

"All ready?" Brass asked. Nick nodded, then held up a hand. He lifted his shirt again and turned the recorder on.

"You're on the air," Gil kidded. It brought a much needed smile to Nick's lips. "Now we'll hear you remotely, both here where Greg will track you, and also through our channels." Gil held up a small receiver.

Nick nodded. "Who's going to tail me?"

Brass jumped in. "Warrick and I will be in a car, and I'll have two plain clothes officers circulating near you when you're on foot."

Nick nodded again, but couldn't help and think that he would be alone. Four men weren't enough to stop Crane.

_You're going after Crane, remember? Besides, Warrick will be there._ He was grateful for that.

"Nick." It was Grissom, staring at the young's CSI's concerned face. "Sara, Catherine and I are going to be processing, but we'll monitor you from here as well." He put a hand on Nick's shoulder. "You'll be fine."

Brass started to pull on Nick's elbow to lead him out, but Gil stopped them.

"Do you have your gun?"

_Yeah. Sure, you'll be fine. _

* * *

Nick knocked on the door to Nigel Crane's place. He immediately felt stupid for that. He knew Crane wasn't here—or not likely to be there, especially when cops had been watching the place.

He opened the unlocked door and let himself inside. The first thing he felt was a shudder, like a bitter cold wind had come through the place. He remembered when he was here last time.

The place was just as empty now as it was then. Grissom had said something about Crane living in the attic. Nick went through the kitchen and to the pantry, where the attic access was.

He could tell things had been removed, probably now in the lab. Nick didn't pull himself up into the attic, but merely looked around. It spooked him. It was like his own attic, and just the memory of someone looking down on him made Nick decide it was time to leave.

_Where to next?_

He hopped in his SUV and drove to Luna Cable. He was well aware of the car following him, with Warrick and Brass inside. It was reassuring. Sort of.

Nick's visit to Luna Cable was fruitless. He poked around, talked to a few people, but the whole time he wondered if he was being watched by someone other than those he trusted.

He sighed as he left the building. Nick pulled out his cell phone and called Grissom.

"Grissom."

"Hey," Nick said. "As you might have heard, I'm not getting anywhere."

"Well we weren't expecting you to find him, remember?" Gil said. Nick swallowed.

"Right. I'm going to Freemont Street," Nick said. He hung up the phone.

Freemont Street was always populated, enough to make Crane comfortable and enough to disguise the police following Nick. Nick strolled along, his hands tucked in his pockets. Occasionally he would nudge his side with his forearm, bumping his holstered gun.

He looked at the shops, not really seeing anything, but trying his best to appear interested. It was difficult for him. Shopping had never been his forte and especially with tourist items. He considered himself a local, another resident unfazed by playing cards with hotel logos and t-shirts that proclaimed where he'd been.

_I _could_ stand to get some new clothes though._ Crane had, after all, taken a decent amount, though Nick had blamed his dry cleaners. He spotted a men's clothing store across the street.

Inside were some viable options. Suddenly his phone rang.

"Stokes," Nick answered.

"Hey man." It was Warrick. "Back up to that blue shirt, the one on your left." Nick started to laugh, but went for the shirt.

"You want me to get it for you?" he asked with a slight chuckle in his voice.

"Yeah. Extra-large, okay?"

Nick shook his head. "Sure, but it's $80 bucks," he said. He heard Warrick laugh at that.

"So?"

"What pay grade are you on?" Nick asked with a smirk he hoped Warrick could see. Warrick laughed again.

"Same as you, Nick," he said. "Hey, you should check out that green shirt on your right." Before Nick could comment, Warrick hung up.

Nick had to laugh again. It felt refreshing. He found himself liking the green shirt Warrick had pointed out, and picked it and the blue one up and headed for the cashier.

His stroll continued until he stopped to get something to eat. It was just a hot dog and a drink, but hey, it was food.

He chewed loudly for a second, smiling as he did. "I hope you all are enjoying my meal as much as I am," he muttered towards the mike. He could imagine Warrick and Brass laughing in the car.

Suddenly he felt it. That eerie feeling and that fear that he hated. Nick looked around in the crowd. No one stood out, but it spooked him enough. He got to his feet and chucked the rest of his meal.

As he turned to go on his way, he froze. There he was—

But no one was there. _Or was he? Did I just see Crane?_ He shook his head, and quickly walked the way back to his car.

Nick started into a parking garage. His car was up on the fifth level, and as soon as he saw it, he felt his pace quicken. He heard other vehicles in the garage, their engines revving and tires squealing slightly on the concrete.

There was a car nearing him. Nick willed himself to get to his car faster. He didn't dare turn and face it. So he practically dove behind his SUV, his hand going for his gun.

The car went by him—it was a white convertible, with a gray-haired man driving gleefully by, completely unaware of the paranoia he'd passed.

Nick sighed loudly. "False alarm," he muttered to anyone who was listening. He winced at the thought of how stupid he must have appeared, and got in his SUV.

As he went for the ignition, something shifted behind him. Before Nick could react, he was hit in the back of the head.


	16. Hooked

a/n: A very Nick-centric chapter. Hope you enjoy!

**Hooked**

Warrick sighed in relief as he saw Nick's SUV emerge from the garage. It turned down the road, and sped off a little aggressively.

"Whoa, Nick," Warrick said aloud. "Slow down." Brass accelerated to keep up.

"Did something spook him?" Brass asked. Warrick shrugged and pulled out his cell phone.

The SUV sped up some more as it neared the freeway. Warrick dialed Nick's number and waited for him to pick up.

The phone just rang over and over again until it hit Nick's voicemail. Warrick frowned. He tried again.

"Anything?" Brass asked. He was busy driving in the most inconspicuous manner possible. It wasn't working well.

"Nothing." Warrick hung up and called Catherine.

"Willows," she answered.

"Hey, Cath. Have you heard anything from the recorder?" he asked. "Nick's driving a little crazy right now, and he's not answering his cell phone." He hoped it was just him dealing with this whole Nigel Crane thing.

"Hang on." Through the phone, he heard some play back of the audio.

* * *

"Greg, take that back a bit," Catherine said, frowning. Greg backed up the audio and adjusted the levels. He wasn't as familiar with this equipment as Archie, but the other techie left to eat or something.

They both stood still and listened. It sounded like Nick opened his car door, got in and shut the door. And then—

"What was that?" Catherine asked. Greg frowned and rewound the tape. He boosted the volume on the element.

_Thump!_ And then a slight groan.

"Was that Nick?" Catherine asked. Greg winced as he heard the thump again.

"It sounds like something got hit," he said. He listened to the noise again. The thump was . . . it wasn't like a piece of wood or anything like that. It was . . .

"His body," Greg whispered. "Is Nick picking up his phone?" Catherine shook her head, and spun around to the tracking equipment, while Greg continued to listen.

"Hey Warrick," she started, "I think we have a problem. Are you still behind Nick?"

* * *

There was humming now over the audio feed, faintly in the background. It couldn't be Nick—it would have come up louder.

Warrick pressed on his earpiece, trying to hear it better. There was a voice, someone talking.

_". . . and see, Nick.__ It'll be just the two of us. We'll . . ." _The levels were too soft, but Warrick instantly felt sick.

"Crane's driving the car," he said aloud.

Brass floored the gas pedal and picked up his radio.

"Dispatch, we're in pursuit of one commandeered SUV. Suspect is Nigel Crane, holding hostage Officer Nick Stokes of the Crime Lab."

* * *

His head. It was throbbing. Nick winced as he opened his eyes. He was lying down on the back seat of his car.

_Why am I in the back?_ He tried to sit up, but failed. _And why am I buckled in with my hands tied?_

A course but thin rope surrounded his wrists, tightly immobilizing his hands and arms in front of him. That didn't stop him from trying to get free.

"You awake, Nick?"

_Oh crap_. It came back to him now.

Nigel was waiting in his car. _Did he find the recorder?_ Nick nudged his chest with his arms. The recorder was still in place. However, his gun was gone.

Nick breathed a sigh of relief even so—at least his friends could hear him.

"Nick?"

His heart rate shot up. He was _with_ Nigel Crane.

"Uh, yeah, Nigel," Nick said. He tried to cover up his shaky voice. "Where are we?" He had no idea how long he'd been out.

Nigel pushed his glasses up on his nose and replaced his hands on the stirring wheel. He gripped it tightly, and glanced in the rearview.

"I-15. We're just leaving Vegas. Some of your so-called friends were following for awhile, but I lost them," Crane said proudly. Nick noted how he belittled his friends. _Because he wants to be your friend._

_Evidently, your only friend._ Nick tired not to shudder. He wondered why Warrick and Brass hadn't moved in yet. _I still have the tracker on. _

"So where are we going?" He held his breath as he waited for the answer.

"Nowhere," Nigel said quickly. "To be honest with you, Nick, I'm not ready to trust you yet."

Nick rolled his eyes, and glanced at his hands.

"Yeah, I got that," he said. Suddenly the SUV swerved, and Nick heard something around them.

Or above them. A helicopter suddenly zoomed by ahead of them. Nick allowed himself to grin as he saw what chopper it was.

_LVPD.__ Brass came through._

Crane swore and jerked the SUV sharply, cutting off another lane of traffic. Nick's body was jostled by the turbulent ride. He groaned as the force of the ride threw his weight against the seat belt.

"Hang on, Nick!" Nigel yelled. He jerked the wheel again, and exited back into the city.

Nick glanced up through the windshield, trying to get his bearings while hanging onto the seat. They were over in the Asian area of town. Little shopping malls lined the streets, video stores, beauty shops, grocery stores—all littered with posters in foreign languages.

Sirens sounded behind them. Nick's heart sped up with hope while Nigel reacted by swerving again. He ran over a curb, right over bushes and into a parking lot. Nick looked up again to see cars in their path.

Nigel just plowed right through them. The impact ratcheted Nick forward and back, and his stomach didn't like that. The sirens were still right behind them.

_How is this going to end?_

And then everything came to a halt. Nick gasped for breath, for control over the adrenaline surging through his veins. Nigel climbed over the driver's seat and over to Nick.

_Get out!_ With his bound hands, he reached for the seat belt buckle, trying to get away before—

Nigel grabbed Nick by the shirt, and pushed his body towards the door.

"Come on, Nick," Crane said. His voice was rushed, and the stress oozed from it. Nick noticed Crane had a gun again—his spare.

By the time both men hit the parking lot pavement, several police cars surrounded them in a semi-circle. Nick started to struggle. He pulled forward, away from Nigel and towards the police.

And then he felt Nigel's hands dig into his skin. Nick winced at the pressure, only to feel more as Crane wrapped his arm around Nick's throat. He tightened that hold, simultaneously limiting Nick's air supply and forcing him along. Nick noted the feel of the gun to his head.

There was a murmur from the police. Nick tried to pay attention, but he coughed hard against Nigel's hold.

"I want you all to go away. Leave us alone!" Crane yelled. He kept retreating away from them, but Nick wasn't sure where they were headed.

Nick's eyes scanned the police. Each officer had his gun drawn, aimed at him. _Probably aimed at Nigel_, he thought, but since Nick was being used as a shield, he was just as much the target. His eyes came upon Brass and Warrick. He locked eyes with Warrick.

_What do I do?_

_Nothing.__ You're not supposed to struggle_.

_Who ever said that?_

Whoever said it had never been held at gunpoint. Nigel's arm hadn't let up against his throat. Nick coughed again and tried to move his head around to get some air.

Something assailed his senses, a smell . . . like old, sour food. Nigel pulled Nick away from the confrontation outside and into a grocery store.

Asian patrons of the store immediately screamed and scattered as they saw Nick's predicament.

"Everyone out!!" Nigel yelled. No one hesitated.

Aisles of food passed by as he dragged Nick to the back of the store. Nick couldn't help but wonder if Nigel had a plan. He suspected he didn't. Nick saw the police start to venture in, cautiously as Nick was forced along with Nigel.

A rush of cool air hit Nick's skin. They were in the meat department. Nick closed his eyes as he saw red meat and blood everywhere. While it was appropriate for the butcher shop area, it aggravated his already queasy stomach and escalated the potential of this nightmare. He didn't even want to go where his imagination was taking him.

Nigel dropped Nick and quickly locked the door that led to the rest of the store. Nick just let himself fall to the dirty floor. He turned on his back and coughed several times, just trying to breathe in and out until he felt normal.

"Sorry about that, Nick," Nigel said. He smoothed a hand over his selective hair growth. "I had to make them back off."

The man started pacing, and Nick just tuned him out for awhile.

And then suddenly he realized Nigel wasn't pacing anymore. Nick looked to see Nigel staring at his chest. Nick looked down and saw it. The mass of the recorder was visible with the shirt resting against him as he lay. Nigel slowly knelt by Nick's side, and pulled back his shirt.

Nick froze.

Nigel's eyes frosted immediately upon seeing the recorder and the wires. He reached forward and grasped them, ripping them harshly from Nick's body. Nick flinched at that, but held back a cry.

"You agreed to this, Nick?" he whispered disbelievingly. "You helped them?" Nick opened his mouth to say whatever it was that would appease Crane, but Nigel cut in.

"I trusted you, Nick. I thought—" He stopped short, glaring at the recorder. Suddenly he threw the device at Nick, barely missing his head.

And suddenly Nick's chest was on fire.

Crane started yelling, and punched him hard, over and over again. Nick held up his hands in a weak defense, but then Nigel was on his feet. He kicked Nick in the side, the legs, the stomach. Each blow was harsh and made Nick's whole body recoil.

Nick never expected this physical fury from Crane. Insanity, yes. He expected the gun to be used, not Nigel's hands and feet.

He didn't know why he was analyzing that while he was being beat up.

"Please," Nick heard himself say. It surprised him, and if he thought about it, he would have realized that he was never one to just sit back and take this. He was strong, athletic and easily a challenge for Nigel.

But something about Crane made Nick's senses go haywire. Fear took over, mainly because Nick knew he didn't have all the cards. Nigel was in control, and that scared him.

When Nigel let up, Nick first tried to catch his breath. He rocked slightly back and forth, trying to roll off the pain. His chest felt like it was on pins and needles, and his stomach churned violently.

Suddenly the nausea increased, and Nick rolled his sore body to the side. He threw up. The force of his revolting stomach made him ache even more.

Acid burned at his throat. Nick spit out the remaining taste from his mouth.

"I mean, how are we supposed to be friends like this?" Crane said. Nick realized he probably had been talking the whole time. He pushed himself off the floor so he was sitting, and leaned his head against a cutting table.

"I don't know," Nick muttered, staring at the floor. "It's hard to be friends when you beat me up."

The following silence was deafening. Nick tensed for another fit of rage, but as he looked at Crane, the man just seemed crushed.

That defeat quickly passed. Crane narrowed his eyes at Nick and started waving his arms—and the gun—heatedly as he spoke.

"I wouldn't have hit you if you hadn't betrayed me!!" Nigel screamed. Nick leaned further against the table, trying to compact his body away from Crane. "You keep running away, after everything I do for you! And then you help the police!"

And all of a sudden, Nick was tired of it. He felt his own temper rise.

"You're full of it, man," Nick said, shaking his head. "Of course I'm going to help the police. I'm one of them!!"

Nigel shook his head vigorously. "No, Nick, you're different. At least I thought so." Nigel's chin quivered. "That's why I did everything for you! Jane, that reporter!!"

"I never asked for that!" Nick shouted. Despite his condition, he felt himself sick of these hypocritical, circular accusations from a nut like Nigel. "Do you think I wanted you to kill anyone?! Jane Galloway and Sam Davis were innocent!"

Nigel seemed stunned by the outburst. "No, they weren't. That reporter was harassing you. I _helped_ you by getting rid of her!"

"No," Nick said, his voice softer. "You just proved how much you don't know me."

Silence made itself known again. Nigel started to pace again, his hands clutching the gun possessively. Nick watched him, his body still tense. He wondered if he'd said too much.

_Maybe this is what he needs to hear. I've played up to what he wants to hear before, and it didn't work._

"I . . I-I know you, Nick," Nigel said, wagging a finger at him. "Maybe better than you do. I know that all your friends think you're a . . . a player, but you haven't had a date since I've met you. I know you're smarter than any of them give you credit for. I know you hide in Las Vegas because of your family. You work hard to prove yourself, but none of them see that." He pointed to himself. "I do."

Crane was right, in what he said. The things he mentioned bugged Nick. He hated that everyone assumed he was constantly dating and sleeping around. He hated that he was pegged as the "slower" CSI. He _did_ work hard, to prove himself to them and to his family.

But that didn't matter right now.

"I won't lie to you anymore, Nigel," Nick said. He started to get to his feet, ignoring the itchy finger Crane had on the trigger of the gun. "You're right. But you forgot one thing." He was on his feet now. "Those people you talked about—they _are_ my friends."

Something scrapped just outside the butcher area, and Nick's eyes flew to it as did Crane's. Before Nick could do a thing, Nigel turned and fired three rounds into the door.

"Stay away!!" he yelled. He ran to Nick's side and pushed the gun to his temple. Nick gulped but held still. "Stay out or I'll kill him!"

"Is that how you treat your friends, Nigel?" Nick asked quietly. "Threatening to kill them?"

"Shut up." It was meek but laced with desperation. "You don't know how it is, Nick. You've always been looking out for you, but you never knew what it was like for me!"

He pushed Nick away, tripping him in the process. Nick fell on his side. He grimaced at the familiar and new pains there.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Nick," Nigel said, the normalcy back in his voice. "Just stay still."

He held the gun towards Nick, and started moving around the butcher area. A pile of meat, ground and also uncut, lay on the table. The juices and blood flowed to a catch-area, a detachable pan. Nigel pulled the pan loose and went towards Nick.

Nick watched in horror as Nigel poured some of the blood onto him. He moved away, enough to miss some of the blood, but not all. It soaked through his shirts and onto his skin.

Nick started swiping at the blood frantically, trying to get it off. It freaked him out, but soon he had blood on his hands too. He looked up at Nigel.

The gun was right at his face.

"Now Nick," he said, "I need you to act injured."


	17. Sick

a/n: Okay, here's today's post. I'm working on the next chapter, but it's . . . delicate. It's also huge, and I'm not sure if I should break it up into two parts. So forgive me if the next post comes late tomorrow. Thanks for the reviews!

**Sick**

Sara looked glum, as did all of the CSIs. They huddled around the audio equipment, right there outside the grocery store. So far, they'd heard everything. While Nigel had found the recorder, he never turned it off. And luckily, it wasn't destroyed.

Part of Sara wished it had been. It was torturous, hearing Nigel Crane beat Nick. And then the argument they had—Sara was sure a gunshot would follow.

She wiped at her eyes and tried to look unmoved. Soon she felt Catherine place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She turned to face the older woman. Surprisingly, Catherine was teary-eyed as well.

Warrick and Grissom moved away to talk with Brass. Brass had been actively communicating on his radio with the officers inside the store.

"Gil, they're saying that Crane is coming out, with Nick."

"What does he want?" Grissom asked, stealing a frantic look at the grocery store. Brass sighed.

"Nick."

A rustle of bodies moving and whispers sounded. The CSIs turned to the grocery store. Gasps followed.

Nick emerged, held again around the throat and with a gun to his head. But this time, he was covered in blood. The blood was a large dark stain on the gray shirt, but it showed clearly on Nick's lighter pants.

Nigel hid behind Nick. He glanced every which way, looking for sharp shooters and overbearing policemen who might challenge him. But all eyes stared at Nick.

He looked bad, to put it mildly. His face was bruised in a couple of places, and no one wanted to imagine the rest of him—especially with whatever caused the blood.

Nick wasn't struggling much. If anything, he struggled just to stay on his feet.

Warrick felt his heart nearly stop at the sight of his friend. _We have to get him back. We have to end this._

_For all of us._

* * *

The stench of the animal blood still aggravated Nick, especially since he wore it now. He swallowed back the bile rising in his throat.

His body didn't take too kindly to moving around. More than wanting Crane dead, Nick just wanted to lie down and sleep in a hot tub of clean water.

He gulped again as he saw the crowd. Police, passer-bys, some media already . . . and his friends. Nick almost lost it when he saw them. All of them were here—Grissom, Warrick, Sara and Catherine. It looked like Grissom was watching him through binoculars. The rest of the team stared back at him as if he were already dead. Nick tried to smile as encouragement, but it came out as a grimace.

He wasn't sure what Nigel was thinking. Coming out in the open, even with a hostage, was just begging for a bullet. Perhaps it was his version of luck finally, but Nick wasn't counting on it yet. Nigel probably wanted another getaway car. Nick tried not to think about what would happen if they escaped successfully.

They moved forward, slowly, step by step. A couple of officers seemed to react a bit too boldly, and Nigel pressed the gun harder to Nick's head.

"Back up!" Nigel yelled. "Or I'll hurt him more!!" The officers complied, but Nick couldn't help but smirk.

"Nigel, do you expect that threat to work?" Nick said. He realized he himself was being a little too bold, but he didn't care.

"They listened, Nick," he said nervously. Nick huffed at that, even though that hurt his chest.

"They listened, and they'll remember that when they kill you," Nick said. "I'm covered in blood, blood they think is human and mine. They think I'm minutes away from dying anyway."

They stopped, and Nick knew what he said made it through to Nigel. He felt Nigel's grip around his throat tighten, enough that Nick gagged at the pressure.

"Nick," Nigel said lowly, "I want you to tell them. Tell them we're friends, and that they should let us leave."

Nick coughed and stretched his neck to get some air. Nigel eased up a bit on his grip.

"I'm not your friend," Nick whispered. He heard Nigel gasp.

"Nick, don't say that." It was a weak command, and Nick felt empowered by it. He started to tense his body, shifting his weight a bit.

"Nigel, I never wanted to be your friend," Nick said. His tone was mean now, and he embraced it. "I'll never be your friend." He suddenly let his weight drop and twisted out of Nigel's grasp. Nigel clawed after him, but Nick spun around and flung his bound hands at the man's face. Nigel took the hit too well, and suddenly Nick saw the gun being raised at him.

Nick froze. Nigel's face was a whirlpool of hurt and anger, two common ingredients for murder. His finger pulled back on the trigger.

The shot exploded as Nick instinctively ducked. He let his legs buckle and he fell to the ground. Something flew by his ear, and suddenly he heard more shots.

"Nick."

His name was called faintly, and surrounding the word was a gurgle of moisture. Nick dared to look at his captor.

Nigel was on his back, the gun dropped from his hand and by his side now, just out of reach. He stared at Nick, and kept trying to say his name. The hollow look bore into Nick. It was haunting, cold, lifeless and yet so full of false hope and dementia.

Nick felt a pair of hands pulling him clear of Crane. He couldn't help but look back at his captor as people surrounded him.

"Nick!"

"Are you all right?"

"He's bleeding!"

Someone cut the ropes from his hands and then started rip open his shirts. Whoever it was swore as he saw blood on his chest too.

"Nick, lie down, buddy," the voice said. "We're going to fix you up."

Nick didn't answer, but the images were starting to swirl.

"Hang on," a familiar voice said. "That's not his blood." Nick looked around and saw Grissom. He smiled tightly at the young CSI. "It's cow blood, if I'm not mistaken."

Nick didn't answer that, but felt his stomach lurch again.

Frantically, he pushed away the paramedics and got to his feet, moving for a suitable spot.

"I think I'm going to—"

He threw up in some decorative bushes in the parking lot by the ambulance. He heaved a few times and tried to calm himself enough to breathe.

"—throw up again," he said to finish his previous statement. He heard light laughter behind him, and felt a comforting hand on his back.

"Take it easy, Nick." It was Sara. Nick nodded as he leaned over the bushes, contemplating if he needed to empty out anything left in his stomach.

He caught sight of the ripped shirts, still covered in blood. Nick stood up straight and practically tore off the shirts. He couldn't move fast enough to get the mess off of him.

"Whoa, calm down, man," he heard Warrick say. But that was pointless to him. Nick couldn't focus on anything else, and suddenly not even on the blood. He put out a hand to steady himself, and found his knees giving way.

* * *

The CSIs surrounded Nick, shielding him from the cameras aimed their way. The paramedics put him on a stretcher and into the ambulance, and as much as everyone wanted to follow, only Warrick was allowed.

"Evidence," Grissom said as a reminder. Catherine and Sara groaned but gathered their kits.

Once again, it seemed pointless in gathering evidence to a crime so clearly witnessed by more than just themselves. But they were thorough.

Sara had a hard time concentrating on her work. Her thoughts kept drifting back to Nick. When he came out, covered in blood, Sara thought she was going to pass out. Either that, or fire her entire clip of bullets into Nigel Crane.

But then Grissom, clever as always, had watched Nick and Crane. As they spoke, Grissom read their lips.

_"It's not his blood,"_ Grissom had said.

That wasn't the only thing that kept replaying in her mind. Crane had said something, something about knowing Nick better than anyone.

"_I know that all your friends think you're a player, but you haven't had a date since I've met you. _

_"I know you're smarter than any of them give you credit for. _

_"You work hard to prove yourself, but none of them see that."_

And Nick had said that Crane was right.

Sara stopped labeling the evidence for a moment. _Do I really think that about Nick?_

She knew at first that she certainly wasn't impressed by him. But now, hadn't she grown to respect him?

Hadn't they all grown to realize how talented he was? Sara frowned.

_If we had, Nick wouldn't have said Crane was right._


	18. Tear It Up

a/n: I decided to break up the chapters, if nothing else than for the rhythm of the story. Hope you like it! I'm winding it up now, so consider yourselves warned. I may post something else tonight, but if not, then in the morning.

**Tear It Up**

Nick bolted upright in his bed, gasping for air and clawing at his skin.

"Whoa, calm down, Nick!" Warrick said. Nick froze, then glanced at his arms and chest. They were clean—no more blood.

Nick sighed and fell back against the hospital bed. He took several deep breaths before opening his eyes.

"Sorry," he whispered. "Bad dream." He managed a weak smile. Warrick smiled back.

"It's okay, man," he said. "You all right?"

Nick nodded out of habit to the question. But his mind replayed what had happened in that parking lot. He felt it all over again—the anger, the panic, the nausea, the draining of all his energy.

Suddenly, Nick's eyes were welling up with tears. His breathing quickened, and Nick leaned his head back to keep the tears from falling. He didn't want Warrick to see him like this.

"Tell me he's dead," Nick said in a muffled sob. He didn't dare look at Warrick, but just waited for words he hoped would confirm it all.

Instead there was silence.

"He's still alive," Nick said, filling in.

Warrick spoke softly, hesitantly. "He was resuscitated at the scene," he said. "He's in ICU right now."

_No._

_It's still not over._

Nick swiped at the tears and sat up in his bed. He quickly pulled the sheets back and looked around the room.

"Where are my clothes, Warrick?" he asked, his voice a little on the panicky side. His body protested his sudden movements, but Nick made himself ignore it.

"Nick, you need to rest—"

"I'll rest at home, miles away from Nigel Crane," Nick said. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and reopening them when he felt a little calmer. "Get me some clothes, man, please."

* * *

Grissom looked over the boxes in front of him. Each contained evidence from the various crime scenes involving Nigel Crane. The tapes alone filled up three boxes.

Catherine came in with two additional pieces of bagged evidence.

"Rope used to tie Nick's wrists," she said, tossing in by the boxes. "And Nick's clothes."

"Cow blood?" Grissom asked, eyeing the remains of the clothing.

Catherine nodded. "It matched what was being cut up in the meat department." She looked over the evidence, the boxes scattered all around them. "I don't think we'll have a problem putting Crane away."

Gil grimaced. "That depends on your definition of putting him away." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn her head sharply at him. "Brass called. The public defender is filing the motions to have Nigel declared unfit to stand trial."

"I can't say I'm surprised," she said. She noticed how rigid Grissom seemed, his whole body radiating disappointment or more. "But you seem to be."

Grissom shot her a look. "I'm not surprised," he said. "But regardless of his mental state, he killed two people, and terrorized Nick. If you ask me, people who commit crimes have something wrong in their heads anyway."

"But we can't declare them all insane," Catherine said.

"No, we can't."

* * *

Nick stared out over the park. The sun was falling fast, and there was a pleasant breeze that signaled the changing seasons. It felt refreshing, being outside. He hadn't been out much this week. But now he'd heard that Nigel Crane was recovering well in the ICU, and that various doctors were leaning towards certifying his instability. His insanity. Nick had to get out.

His chest ached at the thought of Nigel comfortable in an institution after everything he'd done. Not just the crimes against Nick, but the murders of Sam Davis and Jane Galloway. He couldn't help but want to rewind the past few weeks, back before he ordered Luna Cable.

He mentally berated himself. If it wasn't him, it would have been someone else that Nigel Crane fixated on.

Part of Nick wished it was someone else. And most of him wanted Nigel Crane to die.

_Why did they have to resuscitate him?_ He knew what was next. Nigel Crane wouldn't face his criminal charges. He would spend the rest of his days in a moderately secure mental institution. He would talk with doctors and counselors about his obsessions, about Nick.

That just angered Nick. Worse, it sickened him. Nick swallowed back the nausea he felt whenever he thought of Crane, and started to stretch out his legs.

He started running, just a trot at first, but soon he was fueled by that anger again. He ran full out, going around the paved path in the dim park.

When he ran hard, he found himself focusing on nothing but the ground and his footsteps. His chest still ached a bit, but Nick desperately needed some release. He plowed ahead, his legs moving in an unrelenting cycle.

The ache in his chest spread to his stomach, a sharp pain that finally stopped Nick. He panted heavily as he just walked, his hand pressing his stomach where it hurt.

Immediately, Crane was back in his mind.

_Will I ever stop thinking about this?_ Crane dominated his life lately, and it just poisoned Nick—his mind, his spirit, his love of life. Nothing made him happy anymore.

_You have to put him out of your mind. Otherwise, he'll always be stalking you._ Nick stopped and sat down on the grass. He leaned back against a tree and just looked at the sky.

The sun was well gone now, leaving only traces of light blue in the west. Everything else was darkened. He felt invisible—maybe because he was. A couple strolled by, giggling and enjoying each other's company. They never noticed Nick as he watched them.

_Invisible.__ Is that how Crane was?_

_That's why you didn't notice him before._ Nick shook his head. He wasn't going down this path again.

He suppressed a groan as he got to his feet and walked home.


	19. Back

a/n: Thanks for all the reviews and encouragement! I hope this chapter meets your satisfaction—enjoy!

**Back**

The first thing he noticed was that there was no evidence of Crane's case when he got to work. Nick wasn't sure of the case's status, but he had to admit it was nice not to have the stuff lying around to taunt him.

Nick joined the others in the breakroom. Everyone already said 'hi,' but he couldn't help but feel a bit awkward.

"Nick, it's good to have you back," Grissom said. His eyes seemed to penetrate Nick, but the younger CSI just steeled his face with an unreadable look. He didn't need Grissom psycho-analyzing him tonight.

"Nick and Sara, you guys have an armed robbery at Albertson's. Catherine, Warrick, you're with me on a Jane Doe at the Tangiers." Grissom nodded at everyone, and they split up.

"You driving?" Sara asked, grabbing her kit. Nick nodded.

"Sure."

The scene was ordinary. In theory, no two scenes were alike, and there was always something unusual. But in reality, it was just another armed robbery at a grocery store.

A couple of patrons were hurt—nothing serious, but enough to create blood spatter. One of the robbers was hurt as well, but had escaped. Nick slowly walked down the aisles of the store, taking in everything out of place. He came across the first blood spatter, and took a few photos.

He knelt down by the blood and took a swab of it. It looked like spray from a gunshot. But the blood loss was minimal. _Flesh wound_, he thought. Whoever was hit fell back into the aisle of canned foods. Nick sighed and started setting aside the cans on the floor.

"Hungry?" he heard Sara say behind him. She wore an amused smirk on her face, and Nick had to laugh.

"Evidence. Bag those for prints, will you?" he asked. Nick got to his feet and continued through the store.

He came to the back of it, where the meat department was. He couldn't stop the shudder that ran through him as he glanced to the cutting room.

_Not now._

He quickly moved on through the store.

* * *

Sara looked closely at the thumbprint from one of the food cans. It was just a partial, but it could come up in the database.

She glanced over to Nick, who was studying a DNA printout. He was staring at it intently, but she knew there wasn't anything special about it. Until they drew connections between the evidence, they wouldn't know what each meant.

Sara cleared her throat, and Nick looked up from the paper. He raised an eyebrow at her interruption.

"What?"

She took a deep breath. "At the store, you paused back by the meat department." She watched for his reaction, but he hid anything he felt. "Does it freak you out?"

Nick looked back at the paper.

"Yes, meat freaks me out. I'm considering joining your vegetarian club," he said sharply. Sara rolled her eyes at his sarcasm.

She tried again. "Nick, you can tell me," she said. Nick shut his eyes and sighed loudly.

"Stop pitying me, Sara," he said. Sara frowned. "I'm tired of you all thinking I'm weak."

Sara stuttered for some sort of response. "Nick, I—"

"I can handle my issues, Sara." With that, Nick quickly turned away and left the lab.

* * *

He instantly hated himself for being so cross with Sara. She was only concerned about him; at least that's what he hoped.

He didn't want the team thinking he couldn't handle himself, or handle work. Nigel Crane wasn't bothering him.

At least that's what he hoped he portrayed.

He heard through the grapevine that Crane was moved to the mental institution for a final evaluation and interrogation. Nick drove to the institution. His heart sped up just knowing how close he was to Nigel Crane. He fought back his panic, and made himself go inside.

The reception clerk greeted him, and Nick greeted her back by pulling out his badge.

"I'm with the Crime Lab," he said, trying to seem official. "I wanted to watch the evaluation of Nigel Crane."

"I'm sorry," she started. "Evaluations are confidential and limited to the necessary police investigators." Nick started to object when he heard someone speak up behind him.

"He can come to observe." Nick turned around and was face to face with Brass. He looked at the floor, a bit sheepishly.

"Hi Jim," Nick said. Brass stepped aside and pointed down the hall.

"You have to stay in the observing area. No interaction, okay?" he clarified as they walked. Nick nodded.

"I don't want to talk to him," he said. "I just want to watch."

Nigel Crane was restrained and seemed in a confused daze. Three armed guards were in the room, along with two doctors and Brass.

Nick watched them behind a two-way mirror. The doctors questioned Nigel, engaging him in pointed conversation. It seemed like they had been at it for awhile already.

"Tell us about Nick," one of the doctors said. Nick tensed, and saw Brass flinch as well.

"Nick. Nick," Nigel said. He rocked back and forth, back and forth. "He's my friend. My friend."

The doctors took notes, but didn't say anything else. They just waited.

"Nick. He's my friend," Nigel said again. He wasn't as composed or commanding as Nick remembered him. He seemed . . .

Shattered. Weaker.

_Was he always this weak?_

"He won't admit it though." That caught Nick's attention. He stared at Nigel's form, listened to his voice. It started to sound forced, bitter even. "After everything I did . . . He betrayed me."

Nigel continued to talk, almost rambling. He kept saying Nick betrayed him and threw his friendship in his face. But with each word, Nigel Crane fell apart more.

And slowly, it empowered Nick.

_He's not in control of himself. _

_How can he be in control of you?_

Nick stopped by the park on his way back to the lab. The air was warm, a little too warm, but Nick walked along unfazed by it. He kept thinking about Crane. He kept seeing him, rocking back and forth as if he was the victim of a crime.

_Maybe that's how he sees it. He's hurt because I'm not his friend._

It was twisted, but then again, it was Nigel Crane. And yet, part of Nick started to feel sorry for him. He didn't know Crane's past, his childhood or anything that made him the psychotic stalker and killer that he'd become. How many times had Nick put together the pieces and seen criminals who were just collateral of unfortunate circumstances?

He didn't condone what Nigel did, of course. Crane would never fully suffer for his crimes, and the families of Sam Davis and Jane Galloway would probably never get their full peace while Crane lived.

But Nick was starting to believe that maybe he could have some peace. Yes, the nightmares he still had would most likely continue to plague him for awhile. He would continue to glance nervously at his ceiling, and look over his shoulder when out in public.

Nick stopped walking for a moment. _But that's what makes a person_. His experiences in life, both terrifying and beautiful, had made him who he was today.

_And Nigel's experiences, whatever they were, made him who he is._

_Then what's the difference?_ How could one man turn out relatively good, and another become so manipulative and evil?

Nick let his eyes explore the park as he took a deep breath. His shirt clung to his torso, and as a drop of sweat slid down his skin, Nick knew he'd been here too long. It was time to go back to the lab. He walked back to his SUV, but glanced back at the park before hopping in.

_It's not what the experiences do to someone. It's what someone makes of those experiences._

* * *

Sara was on the phone when he ducked in to check on the case.

"Thanks, Brass." She hung up after that and looked up at Nick. "I got a match on those prints from the canned foods."

"Really?" Nick took a seat next to her. "Who is it?"

"Jared Porter," she answered. "He's got a record. Brass is bringing him in now."

Nick nodded. He watched her as she turned back to a folder in her hands. He guessed it was Porter's file, but as interesting as that might be, Nick knew she was studying it as a diversion.

"Sara." Slowly she looked away from the file. There was hesitation in her movement, and it made Nick cringe.

"Yeah?" she said, guardedly. He had put her on edge, and that was the last thing he ever wanted. With their work, and the stress from the ordeal all of them had experienced at various levels, edginess was the last thing they needed.

"I'm sorry," he said in a soft voice. "About earlier. I was out of line." She started to nod it off, but Nick persisted. "You deserve better from me."

She furrowed her brow. "What do you mean?"

Nick took a deep breath, and blew it out as he began. "You, Greg, Catherine, Grissom, Warrick—you all have been very kind to me. Supportive." He paused, not knowing how to put this. And then he was interrupted.

"Nick." It was the receptionist, just ducking in as she saw the young CSI. "You have a call. It's your parents."

He sighed but stood up. "I'll take it in the breakroom." He turned back to Sara, his eyes focusing on hers. "I guess I'm trying to say . . . thanks." She just stared back, until Nick looked away. He turned to leave.

"Nick." He paused at the door and glanced back at her. "When . . . when Crane had you, in that grocery store . . .what he said . . . ." She trailed off, and took a deep breath before looking him in the eye. "We don't think you're a player. And no matter what you might think, we _know_ you're dedicated, intelligent. . ." She sighed and tried again. "You're really talented."

Nick gawked at that. He hadn't been fishing for any compliments. Sara smiled slightly at his expression, but then evened it out, her eyes saddening.

"We really missed you," she said. "I was worried about you." Suddenly she blushed, as if she admitted something she never meant to. She stood up, and quickly squeezed by him through the door. "Anyway, it's good to have you back. I've gotta show Grissom this print," she quickly said, though neither one believed it.

Nick just watched her walk away, a bit perplexed but strangely happy at what she'd said. Slowly his eyes wandered from lab to lab, watching his coworkers and friends. He felt a smile grow on his lips and finally looked away and started to the breakroom.

_Maybe some good did come of all this._

* * *

__

Nigel Crane continued to write, letter to word, word to sentence, sentence to lengthy paragraphs. He wrote pages and pages. It soothed him.

He picked up another piece of paper, and started on it somewhat frantically. Whenever he had to change papers or pens, it interrupted him. It broke his train of thought, his connection.

It frightened him.

His body started to relax a bit as he quickly got a sentence down. As he finished a couple of paragraphs, he suddenly felt tired. He'd written a lot today, and it felt satisfying. He was at ease for now, and ready to stop.

He skipped a few lines, and steadily wrote:

**_Your friend,_**

**_Nigel_**

Nigel folded the sheets of paper and put them in a large envelope. He started to address it.

**_Nick Stokes_**

**_c/o LVPD Forensic Lab_**

******_400 Stewart Ave._****__**

******_Las Vegas, _********_NV _********_89101_******

He licked the envelope and sealed it shut, a content smile on his lips.

* * *

a/n: And that's the end--just enough happiness to put a hopeful smile on your face, and just enough weird-factor to make you shudder once or twice. I hope. :o) Thanks for reading!


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